Sherbet: The Story of Mrs Holmes
by LisbethHolmes
Summary: A blonde girl shows up at Baker Street claiming that her neighbour was murdered, annoyed that the police thinks it was a suicide, demanding Sherlock's help. Sherlock, taking interest in the case, then in her, finds himself a new roommate who brings new challenges, headache, cheeky remarks, a completely new game and never-before-experienced feelings to his life.
1. Chapter 1

"I don't want to be the woman. I want to be the wife."  
Part 1

Sherlock Holmes was lying on the couch suffering from boredom. The bullets had run out of his gun, but recharging would have taken too much effort. It was a lucky day for the wall, but not for Sherlock. Just like on a typical London day, the sun hid behind the nebulous clouds it rained cats and dogs. In this weather clients usually stayed at home. But Sherlock desperately –some would say obsessively- wanted a murder.

Suddenly, he heard the door opening as Mrs Hudson let someone in. Sherlock's eyes kindled, but he wouldn't even move his little finger. He recognised a feminine voice greeting the old lady, and in the next moment a blonde girl stepped in. Less than a minute Sherlock deducted everything about her. Her long, navy blue coat was just a slightly wet therefore she couldn't have spent much time in the rain. Clearly, she'd travelled in a taxi. She was around 23, on her shoulder a bag full of books and exercise books as she must have been a student at of the nearby universities. Sherlock noted that she dressed in style; her outfit consisting of a pair of checked, fit trousers, a black top with a blue scarf, a long cardigan and a pair of boots accompanied with simple make-up. A Londoner, obviously. Everything fit her perfectly, so the girl must have been a perfectionist judging by her appearance. She winked insensibly which meant she had glasses, but she had forgotten them, or she was too proud to wear them. The books in her bag indicated that she read a lot, maybe that was why her eyesight was not the best, or of course, it could have been inherited.

'Murder,' stated Sherlock in his characteristic deep voice.  
'Obvious. What else could've made me come here in this weather?' the girl put her hands on her hips. Sherlock frowned as she wasn't exactly what he'd expected.  
'What happened?' asked the detective finally.  
'My neighbour was murdered.'  
'It happens.'  
'But the police think it was a suicide.'  
'Why do you care? Was he your lover?'  
'You tell me!'  
Sherlock thought for no less than three seconds:  
'No. You hated him. Then I ask again: why do you care?'  
'Because I know that he was killed! The police don't believe me, despite the fact that I'm right. And I hate the feeling when nobody admits that I'm right.'  
'In short, someone died, but you only care to be right?'  
'Sounds a bit selfish, but practically… yes,' Sherlock eyed her for a second then sprung up.  
'Ok, I'll take the case. I like you,' a smile hovered over the girls lips.

Two tall figures got in a cab in the heavy rain. As they travelled to the crime scene the girl said that if they were lucky, the body would be still on the ground. She left in a hurry to notify Sherlock in time. On the way to the scene she explained everything important about the man and why she believed that it wasn't a suicide. Although he was staring out of the window looking uninterested, Sherlock listened carefully. He remarked that the girl had nice observational skills, and deducted that she almost probably was obsessed with detective stories. Maybe, she was a fan of him, but she wouldn't admit it for the world. Slowly, in Sherlock's head a clearer image was taking shape of her.

The journey didn't take more than ten minutes. They arrived in Kensington, an expensive part of London. They got out the cab, Sherlock- always a gentleman- hurried to the scene, so the girl paid. The well-known yellow tape surrounded the front of the street. Sherlock easily stepped over it, so did the girl. She was tall, just 10 centimetres shorter than the detective. The officers tried to keep the on-lookers away, while the experts were working. Nobody held Sherlock up, they got used to him doing what he wanted. They knew very well that they should have asked the girl to identify herself, but they rather avoided the sociopath.

The body was still there. Sherlock immediately noticed that the angle of the fall didn't indicate a suicide. The girl looked at the corpse soberly, and examined it barely without an emotion on her face. Though, for a very brief moment she looked shocked, but it was so quick that Sherlock nearly didn't spot it. She looked much older and wiser now than she should've been. The detective realised that she had seen a dead person before. Or, maybe she was just a psychopath. Both assumptions were equally likely.  
'Oh, for God's sake!' suddenly the girl grunted and turned away to the opposite direction.  
'Sherlock!' a familiar voice addressed the detective. 'What are you doing here? I didn't call you. It's a simple suicide,' the silver-headed inspector addressed the detective.  
'I'm with a client, George.'  
'Greg!' he corrected him and his eyes fell on the blonde figure which he recognised at once. 'But, hey?! Lisbeth, what the hell are you doing here?' Lestrade's jaw fell in astonishment. The girl sighed angrily admitting she was spotted.  
'I'm investigating, but it's none of your business,' she replied petulantly. _Now_ she looked her age.  
'Of course it is my business. I'm the DI. You aren't allowed to be here anyway!'  
'You two know each other?' Sherlock asked the question he already knew the answer for. He just wanted to break of the argument.  
'Yes, she's my niece.'

'Your niece?' Sherlock asked surprisedly, even though he suspected that they were relatives. 'I didn't know that you had a sibling.'  
'You can't even learn his name,' remarked the girl.  
'You have a point there… but! You haven't given me an explanation why you are here,' Lestrade harked back to the main problem.  
'You two continue this family reunion while I go to work,' suggested the detective.  
'No! Wait a moment, will you?' the girl laid him by the heels. 'Like I said, I'm investigating.' she turned to his uncle' You're wrong, it wasn't a suicide. But you never listen to me that's the reason why I need Sherlock's help."  
'You are not a detective and you are not allowed to be here! You should be at university.'  
'I haven't got classes. Please, Uncle, this can be my case!'  
Sherlock cleared his throat.  
'I mean, his case.'  
'But-'  
'The girl is right,' interrupted Sherlock 'It was a murder. You -as always- choose the easier but wrong solution. The angle is incorrect. If it had been a suicide, the body wouldn't have been here. And look at his suit, you can still see the trace where someone seized it. He was pushed.  
'But-'  
'And there's his shoe. On the top of the roof they were fighting and when the killer pushed him he lost one of his shoes. The killer knew that it would have been suspicious if there had been a shoe on the roof. So he went down and put the shoe on the dead man's foot. However, he made a mistake, he tied it in a different way than the victim,' the girl proved enthusiastically. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, he was caught by surprise that she noticed the lace.  
'He?' was the only thing Lestrade questioned.  
'Apparently. If he had fought with a woman he wouldn't have ended up dead. And a woman wasn't able to touch the body, or if she did, she would have paid attention to the lace,' Sherlock explained.  
'Yeah, because women pay attention to details,' added the girl smiling.  
'Why are you arguing with me Lestrade? You could wait for the autopsy which will show you evidence of scuffle.'  
'Okay, 'sighed the DI, 'then do whatever you want. Don't smirk Lisbeth, I'll have a world with you later.'

'You said you had known him,' stated Sherlock while he was examining the body. 'More specifically you hated him. You live here. And you'd noticed the lace. A bit suspicious, don't you think?'  
'Yeah, and after the murder I went to get help from you to put me in jail,' she rolled her navy eyes. 'I thought you might be better.'  
'I didn't say you killed him.'  
'And I didn't.'  
'Obvious. You're smart. If you had killed him, you would have been more careful. Although you still could be a psychopath. You could've murdered him, then solved the case, and became famous because you were seen with me. And nobody would ever suspect the DI's niece.'  
'It sounds quite simple and brilliant. I should've done it. Next time… perhaps I will.'  
'Don't do it.'  
'Why?'  
'Because I'd have to catch you.'  
'Sounds more appealing,' as the girl cocked her eye at him, a ghost of a smile flashed upon Sherlock's face. He went back to analysing the body while the girl casted a sidelong glance at him. So far so good-she thought, took a deep breath and started talking casually:  
'Now that John's married he hasn't got as much free time. You are in need of a new companion.'  
'I assume it should be you,' Sherlock carried on the conversation in the same casual tone, not looking up.  
'Yeah,' she replied without hesitation trying really hard not reveal her excitement and inner fangirl.  
'But you're so-'  
'What? Young, unseasoned, not clever enough?' Lisbeth cut in with a bit of frustration in her voice.  
'Woman,' Sherlock groaned out.  
'What? And what's wrong with that? I thought you don't care about what people say.'  
'I don't. However, I am not interested in women.'  
'I know, but John's married,' winked the girl with a smirk.

Sherlock frowned as the girl leered at him. Shaking his head he went back to work. corpse was middle aged man in bad condition: hands indicating a smoker, overweight causing heart problems. Judging by his clothes he was wealthy, also it was obvious given the neighbourhood. Sherlock found a wallet in the dead man's left pocket. All the money and credit cards were in it. As the detective expected he had a hoard of cash and some cheques. He was carrying several kinds of split rings.  
'He was the landlord,' stated the raven-haired figure and looked questioningly at the blonde one. 'You didn't say it.'  
'Because it was obvious besides I knew that you'd find out in the first minute.'  
'You're not much help.'  
'Why should I bore you with irrelevant details which you'll find out anyway?'  
'You have a point there,' admitted Sherlock. and went through the victim's pockets.  
'Something is missing, isn't it? His phone!'  
'Yes. He kept all his valuables close because he feared that it would be stolen. Money, credit cards, keys he's got everything, but where's his phone?'  
'The killer'd taken it. There was information on it which we could somehow connect him with the vic.'  
Sherlock didn't answer just nodded. The girl wasn't pleased. She didn't manage to impress him.  
'Look! One of the keys is missing,' pointed out the detective.'16. Do you know the person who lives there?'  
'Yes. And actually, there was a burglary a few days ago. The CCTVs were hacked, but nothing was stolen,' Sherlock couldn't help but smile.  
'I'm beginning to like this case.'  
'So, am I of any use then?' she asked, grinning widely.  
'We could say that. Let's have a look at the flat. Now I know why you didn't like him.'  
'Yeah, I couldn't pay this month's rent. I asked for a week, but he threatened me with eviction.'  
'Your parents are wealthy. Why don't they pay it?'  
'My father is well-off. And I'd rather be homeless than to get help from him.'  
'Father issues. Typical,' the detective rolled his ice blue eyes.  
'Never mind. At least I could join your homeless network,' the girl joked, but Sherlock certainly didn't smile.  
'The owner isn't at home. The lights are off,' the detective looked up at the window.  
'It means that we have to wait. Or we could break in.'  
'No,' disagreed Sherlock, 'we have to wait until he comes home. Till then I'll return to Baker Street. Text when he gets home,' he gave her his number and dashed away.  
The girl bowed dutifully, but she was very pleased with herself that she received Sherlock's number. If was for the case of course, but she had to begin somewhere.


	2. Chapter 2

"I don't want to be the woman. I want to be the wife."  
Part 2

"Oi, Lisbeth!" Lestrade walked up to the girl. "I need to talk to you."  
She folded her arms, and huffed in surrender:  
"Ok, I'm listening, you can say how disappointed you are in me, and in fancy words that I'm an idiot, it's not my business, and I'm being stubborn _again_ ," she listed dramatically, emphasising the last world, rolling her eyes.  
"I'm not your father. Does he know that you're here anyway?"  
"Even if I died, he wouldn't notice. He would only be angry because he had to go to the funeral. And he hates them."  
"That's not true," the inspector rebutted her at once.  
The girl frowned, and was just about to ask which part he was referring to when her uncle continued:  
"Yeah, I admit, but I would be very upset! And I'd have to do a lot of paper work, so don't do it!" he wagged his finger at her playfully.  
Lisbeth smiled and hugged the DI. Under the surface she did love her uncle. She admired him, despite the fact that he wasn't a genius. Maybe that was the reason why she loved him so much. He was caring, kind, a bit silly and generous. She always regarded him as her real father.  
"I have fears for you. I don't want you in the middle of a murder investigation."  
"But Uncle, you know that's what I always wanted to do."  
"I thought you would be the 13th Doctor."  
"Yeah, but besides that. And Sherlock is really a great man. You've succeeded in keeping me away from him, but now, there is no force in the world that could do that!"  
"Yeah, that's exactly why I'm concerned."  
"I don't get it. You know me and you know him."  
"That's literally the problem!"  
"Oh, C'mon. What is the worse that could happen?"  
"I think you'll need a new insurance."  
Lisbeth smiled from ear to ear. The detective inspector shook his head knowing that nobody in this world will be able to stop his stubborn niece.

Lisbeth was sitting in the window deep in thinking, having the neighbour on her mind. She tried to figure out what'd happened. She assumed that the burglary and the missing key must have been somehow connected. While she was deep in the train of thought, the experts finished the work and the ambulance took the body. As watching the car she woke memories of the past. Dreadful and tragic pictures have been haunting her ever since she was sixteen. She saw a woman murdered. Not just a woman, her mother. She noticed that she was shaking, so she took a deep breath in order to calm herself down. Needless to say, that day changed her life. That was the day when her childhood ended and she grew up. Most girls would've been shocked, broken, traumatised. She had been there, too. Then she pulled herself together and decided that whatever it took, she would find her mother's killer. That was so typical. A girl, whose mum was killed becomes a detective and finds the killer. But this was real life. The police hadn't managed to find the murderer, not even with her father's and uncle's influence. She had to figure it out on her own. Growing up on crime stories was just the beginning as they became reality. It didn't take much time before she was able to break into the police database, either with her father's laptop (okay, that took months to decipher his code as it was a random combination of numbers and letters), or choosing the easier solution, stealing her uncle's password (which was her birthday). The next step was to sneak into crime scenes. But her father never let her and even Greg wanted to keep her away from this world. But she couldn't get over it. What a boring story would it be if she could?

Thus we arrive at another milestone when Sherlock became famous. In the hope that he would be able to find her mum's killer she was desperate to meet him. However, her father sent her to study in the United States. He said that it was too intricate, and she was too young to understand it. He had done everything, but it was beyond his range. And the most significant warning was that she had to let it pass. She had to forget it, or she would be killed.  
Naturally, she did exactly the opposite. But what did her father expect? If he strongly forbids something, it becomes more fascinating. So far so obvious. What's more, she was her mother. She has never forgiven her father for giving up.  
When Sherlock "died" that hope disappeared, but not forever. She felt in her bones that he wasn't dead. Apparently she was right. She applied for a course in one of the universities in London. Believing that the detective died her father let her come home. That was a big mistake.

She was brought back to the present by catching a sudden movement in the corner of her eyes: a tall man in a hurry came to the crime scene. Lisbeth recognised him at once. Sending a message to Sherlock she opened the window because she wanted to hear whether the man spoke to anybody. He didn't, just showed the police his address card. They let him through. He nervously stepped over the yellow tape and then he opened the front door on the third attempt as his hands were shaking. He just proved her theory right, he was the killer. She thrummed in heebie-jeebies. She wanted to ask him a dozen questions, and prove the police that once again they had ignored the obvious and she was right. But unfortunately, once again she had to remind herself that she wasn't a police officer. Hundreds of ideas came to her mind, but she had to wait for Sherlock. Oh, God, she hated being powerless.

About eight minutes later the navy blue coat appeared. Lisbeth opened the door for him and then they went to the suspect's flat straightaway.  
"Any plan?" inquired the girl clapping her hands together, her eyes glittering.  
"Yes. I'll speak with him while you wait in your flat," Sherlock looked at her not sharing her enthusiasm. At least not on the surface. A smile almost hovered over his mouth. He wondered whether he has ever met someone so delighted about a murder as him, and some psychopaths. John, of course was an adrenalin junkie, but he was much more balanced, more cool-headed.  
"What? Why? I'd like to talk to him," her face fell immediately.  
"Yeah, but last time I checked you weren't a police officer."  
"Neither were you."  
Sherlock showed one of Lestrade's cards proudly to prove her wrong. However he was not expecting what came next:  
"So you're the one who is always stealing them from uncle," she poked her in the chest looking up to him frustrated, "Have you any idea how complicated it is to get a new one?! And all the time he gets into trouble when he asks for a new one. He is thought to be senile."  
Sherlock waited calmly for the child to finish the fireworks. Actually, he found it a bit amusing.  
"Finished?"  
Lisbeth just nodded grumpily.  
"Off to the flat. I'll call you when I need you."  
"I'm feeling like a child. Or a dog," she slammed the door.  
However, she regretted doing it because she wanted to hear the conversation. Finally she opened the door slightly.  
"DI Lestrade. I have some questions about the murder," the well-known husky voice introduced himself.  
"Sure. I wasn't home at that time. I was in the bar on the corner. Steve's, I think that's the name,"  
a higher voice replied, Lisbeth smiled, noting first mistake.  
"Can anyone establish this alibi?"  
"I'm not sure. It's a bar, but you can ask the owner, he'll probably remember me."  
"There was a burglary, but you didn't report it."  
"Yeah, but nothing was stolen, so it would've been unnecessary."  
"One key is missing from the owner's split ring. 16, it's your flat," Sherlock bombarded him with question after question, not leaving him time to make lies up. Lisbeth had to admit he was good.  
"I know nothing about it. He didn't mention it to me."  
"Thank you for your cooperation."

Sherlock was about to knock at the door when the girl opened it.  
"He's the killer," her smile flushed with victory.  
"Obvious," said the detective stepping into the flat. "What's your opinion?"  
Lisbeth's face fell. She was completely taken aback by him being interested in her opinion. Of course, she didn't show her happiness, but it was glistening unmistakably in her eyes.  
"He said that he wasn't at home at the time of the murder. You didn't inform him about the time interval. So how did he know? Second mistake, he replied at once when you asked where he had been. An innocent man has to think about his alibi. Except if he expects to be a suspect. Third mistake, his voice thrilled a bit when he lied. I wish I could've seen his pupil."  
"You're right. I see it in a slightly different way, though."  
"Alright. Don't spare me."  
"Firstly, his shoes. They were muddy, or rather sandy. He was obviously on the bank of the Thames. He's taken care of the phone. We'll never find it, it's at the bottom of the river. Then there are the laces, tied exactly the same way as on the victim's shoes. He's well-built and strong. It wouldn't have taken much effort to push the victim to death. But the main evidence is the blood on the edge of his jeans. I'm one hundred percent certain that it's the landlord's."  
"Well, I couldn't see that through the walls could I? It's enough to arrest him."  
"No, no, no. Don't be boring! Ask the right questions!"  
The words shocked her. She didn't want to disappoint Sherlock. Quickly she ran through the details that she might have missed.  
"The key! And the burglary. Why didn't he report it?"  
"Yes! Something was stolen, something that he couldn't report," Before the girl could come up with an answer he continued in excitement. "He sells drugs. The landlord learnt about it and stole the supply. He found out, demanded it back and they agreed to meet on the roof. He was a complete idiot, obviously, couldn't have chosen a more dangerous meeting place"  
"But it was an accident," the girl joined him. "He didn't want to kill him. Now he won't get his drugs back. Oh, God. I'm feeling so stupid now that I couldn't see it. Teach me how to deduct!"  
"You can't learn it."  
"I can. You learnt it too."  
"Yes, but I'm a genius," Sherlock stated humble as always.  
"So am I!" she replied without hesitation.

"It's your turn. You have to get drug from him," the detective turned to her, his eyes sparkling with excitement.  
"What? Why don't you do it?' taken aback asked the girl, 'You're the junkie, not me."  
Sherlock puckered his brows; just for a minute he seemed resentful.  
"Why are you complaining? Make yourself useful! You said you wanted to have a case, now it's the opportunity."  
The girl bit her lips, pondered for a second then nodded firmly.  
"Okay. But it's for the case. If I get into trouble-" she loured upon Sherlock, but was interrupted.  
"Shut up and go! You wanted to be my new companion then prove that you're suitable."  
Sherlock could see how his words have slapped her in the face. If for nothing else, just to prove him wrong now she was in.  
"Fine," she made up her mind.

Just for a moment Lisbeth hesitated before knocking at the door. She took a deep breath as she realised she was about to get drug from a killer. It couldn't have been more dangerous. Besides it couldn't have been more thrilling.  
"Hello," she smiled charmingly as the door opened. "I live next door."  
The man in his twenties looked at her suspiciously. He couldn't recall seeing her around. Of course, it was a big block; he wouldn't know everyone who lived in it, though he would definitely remember her… Lisbeth recognised the confusion in his eyes, but decided that smiling brightly was her best chance. It was her turn to prove Sherlock that she was suitable. She had to play the role perfectly. If that required buying drugs then so be it.  
"I was wondering if…" she bit her lips unsteadily aiming to sound as innocent as it was possible while trying to uncloak a drug dealer, and almost certainly a murderer. "I heard that you sell…you know…"  
The man's eyes kindled, but he still wasn't convinced enough.  
"Please. I need it. Wiggins has disappeared, "she'd read about Wiggins on John's blog, so she hoped that maybe he knew him. She ran her fingers restlessly through her blonde hair and gazed despairingly at him. Sometimes she needed to take advantage of her appearance, and this was a perfect moment for that.  
"Yes, Wiggins has lain off. I could give you some though," he winked at her and disappeared in the flat. Lisbeth's face irradiated with happiness. Her smile was replaced by worry as the man returned and gave her a little white packet. She smiled at him angelically.  
"Thank you, darling. Sherlock!" she yelled and before the man could react the detective was by her side.  
"Lestrade is on his way," he stated and snatched the pocket away from her. The man reacted quickly as he realised he had been tricked. It happened so quickly. As he caught hold of the girl, he pressed a knife to her throat.  
"One more step and I'll kill her," he warned Sherlock with faint note of desperation in his voice. Lisbeth felt her heart beat heavily. Although there are some whose blood would run cold in a situation like this, she wasn't one of them. As the detective's eyes met hers, she winked at him and he nodded slightly in response.  
"Okay," Sherlock stepped backwards with his hands in the air, one of them still holding the little package, "I'll do what you want just don't hurt the girl."  
When the killer's attention shifted to Sherlock, Lisbeth wringed his hand and the man dropped the knife. The very moment Sherlock stepped closer and head-butted him while the girl grabbed the weapon. They carried out the manoeuvre in perfect synchrony.  
"Don't mess with me idiot. I'm a Lestrade," said Lisbeth exulting, and high fived with Sherlock. He couldn't help but smirk at her.  
The very moment Lestrade arrived he found the unconscious killer on the floor, his niece giggling with a knife in her hand, and the detective looking at her pleased. Oh God, what this two had done already? he thought.


	3. Chapter 3

"I don't want to be the woman. I want to be the wife."  
Part 3

"You have to admit we're a good team," smiled Lisbeth taking a bite from fries. She at Sherlock were sitting in a restaurant, having dinner. More specifically the girl was eating. After the DI arrived Sherlock explained how and why the man murdered the landlord, proved his theory, sorry, _their_ theory as the girl corrected him indignantly, uncovered the drug supply, threw insults at the police, and left Lestrade speechless, all this within five minutes. Then they went grab a bite. So it was just business as usual.  
"Yes, our cooperation was bearable despite the fact that it was a particularly dull case," he murmured as he was writing an e-mail to John, keeping him posted, passive aggressively suggesting it was high time for a new chapter on his blog.  
"Oh, C'mon," she pointed a fork at him, "you enjoyed it. Especially the end. And when uncle found us. And when it turned out that the blood on the killer's jeans was the victim's blood."  
"Obviously," he muttered rolling his eyes as the sound of quick typing filled the air.  
"But… I don't get it. Why did I have to get drug from the killer? The blood was enough evidence," Lisbeth was getting frustrated with him being occupied by his phone.  
"It was an exam."  
"Did I pass?"  
"With flying colours," he looked up finally.  
The girl's face lit up in a delighted grin. Sherlock couldn't help but smile to. He hated overly cheerful people, but he couldn't resist to be caught up by the girl's enthusiasm from time to time.  
"So will we solve the next case together?"  
"Yes. And it could be the case that you wanted to see me about."  
"Which case?" asked the girl curiously playing with the straw in her drink.  
"Your mother's."  
Lisbeth's hands froze than she folded her arms insecurely as her gaze met with Sherlock's.  
"How do you know about my mother?" her voice quivered for a moment.  
"Do you want to hear it?" it was a great offer from Sherlock. Normally he would've started the showing off regardless of the consequences. But he knew that it was a tender spot for Lisbeth, and for some reason he didn't want to scare her off.  
"Yes. I want to learn," announced the girl determinedly. He put down his phone.  
"You're self-confident and serious. It's clear that you had to grow up early. It might have been because you had younger siblings, but it's obvious that you're an only child. Therefore something must have happened to you, something traumatic. When you saw the body you weren't upset, you didn't react like a normal person which suggests that you'd seen a corpse before. Just for a moment, I almost missed it, you quivered. Childhood trauma. You have almost probably seen someone close to you dead. You don't have a big family, so it was your mother or father. You mentioned your father, for that reason he's alive, besides it's obvious that you hate him. Well, I mean you don't hate him because he's alive, maybe you hate him because he works a lot, maybe because he doesn't have time for you, or he tries to control you, but the most probable reason why you can't stand him is that he didn't find your mother's killer. That's so apparent a blind could see it. Your uncle is a DI, so it had to be a very complicated case if it is still not solved. Furthermore, your father is well-off, and I assume that he's clever because you take after him, with all due respect Gail isn't a genius. He is probably an important man, and yet he couldn't catch the killer. This means that the case is a tough nut to crack. In conclusion you need the help of the world's only consulting detective. Which happens to be me."  
Gasping, she shook her head:  
"I'm enthralled. I took note of it. You have to teach me more."  
"I don't mind if I do," even Sherlock was surprised by his words. He enjoyed attention, people being amazed by him and tried to educate John, but never imagined he'd have another eager student.  
"Magnificent! I just need to find a new flat and everything is perfect."  
"I have a vacancy," said Sherlock, pretending he hadn't noticed the hint.  
"Arranged," Lisbeth replied, pretending she wasn't over the moon.

It was the happiest day in Lisbeth's life. Or she thought that it was. To be honest she didn't go to Sherlock just because of her mother's case. Of course, to solve it was one of the most significant goals in her life, but… She really fancied Sherlock. High-functioning sociopath detectives always were her type. Especially when they were tall. And skinny. With ice blue-eyes. So when they were Sherlock.

Lisbeth was walking on the street her face radiated with happiness. She made it! She was so proud of herself and at the same time she felt extremely lucky. She had never dreamed that this would happen. Her perfect little world was interrupted as out of nowhere a black car pulled up next to her. At first she was just looking at it from the corner of her eye, but then she got a message from an unknown number.  
 _Get in.  
MH_  
She knew very well what MH meant. Sherlock's arrogant and snob brother, Mycroft. The British Government personally. She didn't feel like getting in, but she was aware that she didn't have another choice. She'd been expecting this meeting nevertheless. If she wanted to be Sherlock's new companion, she would have to prove her worth to his brother. Finally, she sat in.

The journey lasted 15 minutes and due the black windows she didn't recognize where they were going. She wouldn't be able to find way back, and this was concerning her. She hated when she was unaware of something. The car stopped, and the driver opened the door. Despite the fact that she was suspicious and well, let's say, not very happy because of this meeting, she smiled at the driver. She seemed self-confident and cool. Whereas Sherlock didn't know anything about human nature, she knew humans all too well. She just pretended that she couldn't see anything while she was very good at handling people and playing roles. Looking around she took note that she was in an old factory. Typical meeting place.

"Lisbeth Lestrade. It's been a long time. I see you've grown up, you've become quite gorgeous and clever. But if I'm not mistaken, you should be studying at the university, not involving yourself in cases which are none of your business. I see you haven't changed. You are still getting your own way," standing in front of him was the aforementioned big brother –literally-looking disapproving look at her, a superior tone clear in his voice.  
"Mycroft, I should say I'm glad to see you, but we both now that's not true," replied coldly the girl without a smile.  
"And you're as kind as always. You never cease to disappoint me."  
"What do you want?" Lisbeth had enough of small talk. "You don't have time for insulting people. Not outside of work, leastwise. And it's such an inconvenience for you to leave your office just to reprimand me. It's about Sherlock, isn't it? You don't like seeing me with him."  
"I'm here because of a favour," Mycroft stated, and raised a disapproving eyebrow. "Your father asked me to keep an eye on you. Especially to keep you away from Sherlock."  
"What a pity that he's down under," remarked the girl sarcastically and the man clouded over.  
Lisbeth's father, William Lestrade was the most arrogant, unpleasant, narrow-minded, argumentative person she ever had the misfortune of meeting. After her mother's death only her dad was left for her. However, for some reason she could never understand, he maintained quite a good relation with Mycroft. One might even call it a friendship, if these two emotionless people could have that…  
William never paid attention to his daughter, just when he was criticising her. Nothing was ever enough good for him. Lisbeth was not the perfect little angel he imagined. She inherited her mother's courage, determination, stubbornness and what he most regretted, her sassy remarks. He was always working, well, he was the other half of the British government, a colleague of Mycroft Holmes, so he never really had time to deal with the rebellious teenager who set her mind on chasing one of the most dangerous criminals in the world. These were just a few of the reasons why Lisbeth hated her father. She had a difficult childhood. She wanted to be an actress, or a writer then a detective, but of course her father had different plans for her. He made her go to excellent boarding schools. She could break off the host when she went to university in London and she attained her dream of meeting Sherlock. She decided that nobody will stop her from being his new companion. Nobody, not even Mycroft. Sherlock was so like her in a way. Although, she wasn't as clever as him, but in exchange she knew people. And that was the knowledge which Sherlock lacked. That was the reason why they fit together. They enhanced each other.

"Your father disapproves of investigating with Sherlock. You're here to study," Mycroft explained leaning against his umbrella.  
"He wants me to obey him just like a puppet. Just like I did for twenty three years."  
"Neither do _I_ like that you're with Sherlock," as Mycroft emphasised the pronoun, the girl smiled bitterly.  
"Of course you don't. You can't comprehend happiness."  
"That's not the reason. You're distracting him from his main business."  
"Which is being alone and being bored?"  
"Which is to find Moriarty by any chance."  
"You don't see the point. That's why I'm doing it. Sherlock needs a new companion."  
"He's got John."  
"With all due respect John is not suitable for this assignment. And he's married know. Besides, I know that it is not your cup of tea, but Sherlock needs a woman in his life."  
Mycroft responded with a bitter laughter:  
"And I guess it would be you."  
"Of course. Just a sociopath can handle a sociopath. Or a woman. And luckily I'm both of them."  
"England would fall, if you were together."  
"It survived the Reichenbach fall. Worse can't happen," the girl winked at Mycroft knowing that she won a battle, but not yet the war.

When John paid a visit to Sherlock he only found a blonde girl sitting in his armchair. She was enthusiastically reading something on Sherlock's laptop; what's more, it was his blog. In his flat, in his armchair, reading his blog. What the bloody hell?  
"Oh, John," the girl smiled welcome, "I'm sorry, it's your armchair, isn't it?"  
"Lisbeth Lestrade," she stood up and offered her hand. John shook it, his jaw almost dropping in confusion.  
"Nice to meet you. I heard and read a lot about you. It's a pleasure," she smiled warmly at him.  
"Yeah, nice to meet you, too. Greg mentioned having a niece, but if I am not too blunt, what are you doing here?  
"I'm Sherlock's new flatmate."  
"You… are _what_? I spoke with him three days ago and he didn't say that he'd found a new flatmate."  
"Yes, because I met him yesterday," she replied without the wink of the eyelid. Inside she was swimming in happiness and enjoyed very much the scene and John's confusion.  
"And you're here right away," John stated shocked. "Did he take you to a crime scene?  
"Actually, we'd already solved a murder. _The key suspect_ , I was reading it. Funny title and great story, though I am not in it."  
"I am sorry, he mentioned a blonde girl, but he said that you only played a minor part in solving the murder."  
"A minor part?!" she gasped, her eyes glistening with fury. "Wait till that bastard gets home, I will make a _minor_ scene."  
John giggled in astonishment. He had to sit down.  
"So… you're the new me."  
"No, no, no!" she brightened up immediately. "I'm not a substitute you. Or I hope I'm not."  
"You have to know something if you're here after a day. And that's his laptop. Did he give you the password?"  
"No, I figured it out."  
"Are you sure that you're a Lestrade?" John asked half serious, half in awe. She giggled in response. Minor part – she murmured under her breath.  
When Sherlock came in John and the girl were having a whale of a time.  
"Hello John. I see you've paled up with Lisbeth," he greeted his friend. The girl knew that she was sitting in his armchair, so she stood up and collapsed on the sofa. She simply stepped across the coffee table. She had only been living there for one day, but it felt like as if it has always been where she belonged.  
"Is that my laptop?" asked the detective casually.  
"Yep."  
"You've broken the code," he stated, not being amused nor frustrated.  
"Yep."  
"Good."  
"Oh, Darling I unhitched the gas," out of the blue she added.  
"You did what?! It was an experiment!" Sherlock complained furiously jumping up. John frowned and could not decide whether he was surprised by the casual conversation of breaking the genius' code, or by the girl calling his friend darling and by him not protesting. "It had to boil for ten minutes-"  
"No, just for eight minutes."  
"Ten!" he yelled hysterically.  
"Eight. You have to recalculate it," they eyed each other. In the end Sherlock disappeared in his room, slamming the door behind him.  
"So, Sherlock made a mistake?" John looked at the girl in awe.  
"Of course he didn't. Besides I didn't meddle in his experiment. I just wanted you to finish your sentence."  
"He will be outraged when he finds out."  
"No, he will be pleased with himself that he was right and I wasn't. So you were saying..."  
John winked and shook his head smiling. He had never been able to imagine Sherlock with a woman, but this girl… She will make Sherlock much better or the third word war will break out:  
"He had two women is his life. If I could say that. There was Janine, they dated, they acted like a real couple. Then it turned out that Sherlock wanted to get to Magnussen's office and Janine was his PA. He even proposed to her. He'd been pretending that he loved her just to get to a bloody office.  
"Yeah, I guess, she was a nice girl. But just an ordinary girl," John thought it was the best to ignore her comment.  
"Then there was a really special relationship. I can't tell you whether it was love. But Sherlock was upset and depressed when she died. The violin drove me crazy."  
"Oh, it was the dominatrix, wasn't it?"  
"Yes. She was _the woman_ ," said John, placing emphasis on the last two words trying to mean the only woman to who Sherlock indeed paid attention to.  
Lisbeth smiled at him and without thinking she replied:  
"Okay, I got it. But I don't want to be the woman. I want to be _the wife_."


	4. Chapter 4

'This is called a relationship.'  
Part 1

The house was almost quiet. The sound of an old clock ticking steadily mixed with two soft snores, one coming from the living room, the other from upstairs. It almost happened to be a peaceful night, but if we're talking about the Holmes' nothing is so simple.

Lisbeth thought a quiescent night laid ahead of her. Moving in didn't take longer than one day, since she brought no furniture (which was fortunate since she didn't own any), just clothes enough for an army, and all the books from the century. They were heavy, and there always seemed to be a new box waiting outside to be brought in, but Lisbeth couldn't live without them. And maybe if Sherlock had given a hand, moving in would have been much quicker, but of course he had something more important to do which mainly included lying on the couch. Needless to say, Lisbeth let a few books fall just to remind him of the blonde girl fighting a lost battle against the endless army of books. She tiredly collapsed on her bed, in her new room. Although it was a done deal, she had talked to Mrs Hudson.  
'So, are you moving in, darling?' asked the old lady while she was pouring tea.  
'Yes. I like the neighbourhood and the flat is lovely,' replied the girl smiling friendly.  
'Are you going to need John's old bedroom upstairs?'  
'Yes. Now, then… we'll see it.'  
As the girl smiled self-confidently, Mrs Hudson giggled.  
'Since when have you known Sherlock?'  
'Since yesterday,' replied Lisbeth taking leisurely a nip from tea.  
The old lady choked on the hot beverage.  
'We solved a murder together, my landlord's. Well, I was short on money anyway so moving out was inevitable. I needed a new flat, Sherlock needed a new flatmate, lucky coincidence,' _Or more likely, perfect planning_ -she added in her head.  
The landlady was at a loss for words:  
'You're a very special girl I feel. Maybe you could tame Sherlock a little bit.'  
'I don't want to; I like him in his own way.'  
'Or you could at least ask him to stop putting human body parts in the fridge.'  
'But where else should he put them?' asked Lisbeth eyes wide open, filled with genuine surprise.  
'Birds of a feather flock together,' Mrs Hudson shook her head playfully.  
'But I don't like living in a morgue, so I'll do my best.'  
Thus Lisbeth moved barely in and engrossed the bedroom upstairs. Even though she had redecorated, put new curtains on and scattered all her stuff especially shoes, clothes and books, the whole room reminded her of John and Sherlock felt the same way. As he stood in the doorway and scanned what Lisbeth called 'organised mass' she could see vacancy and loneliness in his eyes. It broke her heart every time. But it was the beginning of a new area.

Suddenly Lisbeth's eyes sprung up. Leaping off the bed she hurried downstairs to the living room, where she found a stranger and Sherlock fighting, wrestling on the floor. The whole room looked as a bomb had exploded.  
'Sherlock, it's three o'clock in the morning!' Lisbeth complained zipping her cardigan. Having by-passed them she set up the coffee table.  
'Lisbeth!' Sherlock groaned while he was preoccupied with trying to prevent the stranger from throttling him. As sighing she snatched a chair and flanged it at the man like it was a totally normal thing. The stranger blacked out.  
'Couldn't you have done that sooner?' growled the detective during coughing.  
'You're welcome,' smiled the girl and set off to bed.  
'Hey!' Sherlock laid her by the heels still breathing heavily.  
'What?' she put her hands on her hips. 'I had knocked him off, this was the harder part of the job, you call the police and tidy up this mess' Sherlock was taken aback for a moment than replied:  
'I just wanted to say that we'll need a new chair.'  
'Well, I'm sorry. I think he is in need of an ambulance. Call the police, please. It would require much more paperwork to uncle if he died.'  
Sherlock nodded dutifully and the girl went back to sleep. So this was the first night at the Holmes'. In a normal family nobody would attack Sherlock in the middle of the night, the girl wouldn't be angry because she was woken up (and not because a stranger tried to kill the detective), and she wouldn't knock off the attacker so easily without at least having a panic attack before. Sherlock would ask the new flatmate if she was okay, and if she found it weird that he was impugned. Finally, they would argue about anything, but not specifically about the paperwork and the chair. In short, in a normal family this whole affair wouldn't happen. But the Holmes' weren't a normal family. They were the Holmes'.

In the morning Lisbeth walked down sleepily still wearing her pyjamas and her favourite Tardis patched cardigan. Tiptoeing to the kitchen she prepared a big cup of coffee to herself. Although she was British and drank tea at five o'clock, she was a huge coffee enthusiast. A day without coffee was wasted, not to mention unmanageable. She was within the ace of flinging down directly on Sherlock as he was lying on the coach. She, however, avoided the accident and didn't even spill her drink. This situation reminded her to the one when they first met, of course without almost falling. Sherlock looked like he was praying, but she suspected that it was about something else. The detective concentrated, she could almost hear the cogs stirring, most definitely he was thinking. He sensed that the girl was there examining him. Lisbeth sat down quietly and watched him while sipping coffee. He looked so peaceful lying on the coach in the middle of muddle. Because of course, he hadn't tidied the mess up. Lisbeth never expected that he would. And Sherlock knew that the girl was aware of this fact. This was one of their silent agreements.  
'You know, I'm not that type who must tidy up if she sees a mess,' Lisbeth broke the silence.  
'No. You're that kind who sees a fight in the middle of the night in her flat, acts like it's a perfectly normal thing, and when she's fed up with it knocks out the attacker and goes back to sleep like nothing happened,' murmured the detective while his magnificent ice blue eyes were still closed.  
'I can't decide whether it was a compliment or a complaint,' taxed the girl her brain.  
'It was a compliment,' the ice blue eyes opened and landed on her.  
'Good answer, 'she winked her eye at him. After a moment of silence she inquired. 'What are you doing?'  
'I'm in my mind palace. I was, before you interrupted,' he added grumpily.  
'And what's that?'  
'It's a technique. I never forget anything because I archive everything significant in it.'  
'And what's significant for you? I guess, not birthdays. Mine is on the seventh of January by the way.'  
'Everything that could be useful in my carrier,' he ignored her comment, 'common knowledge that is being taught in the schools is insignificant and irrelevant.'  
'So everything that I know. You've deleted _all_ that knowledge.'  
'Literally.'  
'Then what is it like in your ingenious, specimen brain?' the girl pressed close to Sherlock. As they eyed Lisbeth lost for a second in the detective's special eyes. She couldn't tell their colour. It was the colour of the ocean after a storm. _Stop, Lisbeth!_ \- she warned herself. It was a weird moment as the air sparkled between them.  
'For instance London's map,' Sherlock cleared his throat and the moment went away. The girl blinked in confusion, but she didn't question the detective.  
'Why a palace though?' She asked finally. Sherlock was caught by surprise, of course just a little bit.  
'Why isn't a library? It would be more sensible. A palace is so… _scenical_.'  
'What's your problem with my palace?' Sherlock burst out petulantly.  
'Nothing, I was just saying-'  
'Client!' Mrs Hudson's voice twinkled from downstairs.  
'I'm in my pyjamas' sprang up the girl.  
'What's wrong with that? I was in a blanket in Buckingham Palace,' added the detective to the wall because the girl was already upstairs.  
'It's always about palaces!'

5 minutes later when the client was just about to sit down Lisbeth came back. She wasn't wearing make-up, but otherwise she looked perfect. Her hair, her outfit, everything. Sherlock puckered his brows.  
'Don't worry. You're maybe the cleverest person in the world, but you'll never understand women,' enlightened him the girl.  
'Maybe?' frowned Sherlock one of his eyebrows, in response Lisbeth put out her tongue playfully. She was curious which part of her sentence would the detective pick at. He didn't disappoint her.  
'Now that you're here, we can start it,' Sherlock clapped his hands keenly. Normally he wouldn't be excited about a simple client, but now he had an eager pupil so he could show off.  
'This is Mr Brown; he wants to know whether his wife is cheating on him. I'll explain everything if you're capable of comprehending and learning it, the next will be yours,' Sherlock spoke directly to the girl ignoring the confused client. At the very moment when Lisbeth nodded the detective started.  
'38, official, married at least for 10 year, two kids, one small dog. Stressful life, middle-class, smoker, his wife definitely is cheating on him. He's wearing suit that suggests some kind of office work, furthermore desk job because you can notice the pale line on his forearm.'  
'The edge of the table,' remarked the girl.  
'Yes. In the packet of his suit there's a pen, it's from his office. He smokes. He has a family which has to be maintained, it means a lot of work and of course his life is stressful. He works long hours and doesn't sleep enough. Circles round his eyes, the coffee spot on his tie. Given these facts it's obvious that he's a smoker. Though the nicotine patch under his shirt is the main evidence.'  
'And what about the lighter in his pocket?' asked the girl keenly.  
'Yes, I was just about to mention it. Then, the ring. It's not new, little scratches on it.'  
'Desk job. He notes a lot his ring grazes when writes. Left handed.'  
'Apparently. Phone in the right pocket of his jacket, left handed. The fur on his trousers is from his dog, but it ranges just the middle of his calf which means that the dog can't be taller than that. Wife, small dog, stressful life to earn enough money, obvious they've got children. His wife is at home with them; well, when she's not at the neighbour. She has a lot of free time and tired husband. What does an attractive woman do in this situation? Over-simple. I wouldn't waste time with it if you weren't here.'  
Lisbeth kept quiet while she was examining the poor client. He looked like he's regretted coming there. The girl felt sorry for this fellow, but Sherlock was waiting for the compliment.  
'Ok. I came to that conclusion, too. Obviously, not as brilliantly as you did.'  
'That's it?' expanded his hands the client. 'No questions, no wonderment, no refutation, no accusation that he's just made it up? Are you guys doing this daily?'  
'He justified everything logically, so there's nothing to wonder.'  
'Lisbeth, how do you see it?' Sherlock ignored the man.  
'Well, I have to admit that I hadn't noticed all the data, but! He's been just sitting there patiently while you were telling everything about him like he wasn't there. If I were him, I would've knocked you out after 30 seconds,' The client smiled and coincidently nodded. 'Considering this, the wedding ring, the job, he has kids. And his outfit. Look at him. Brownish suit, black shoes, blue shirt, and that hideous tie. I'm sorry, but if your wife would've seen it, she would never ever let you step out of your house. For that reason she's been away. And here come the aforementioned consequences. In other words, I'm regret to inform you, but all these facts suggest that she's cheating on you.'  
'Seriously, his outfit?' grizzled Sherlock. 'I examined everything and… his _outfit_?'  
'Well, thank you for your… help,' stood the client up confusingly. He shook his head and he couldn't decide whether he should be angry or happy. As a consolation prize he met two people who were crazier than him. Furthermore they lived together. It's time to start a new life. The girl saw that he'll be okay so she smiled at her. Sherlock didn't look at him, he just seethed alone.  
'It was a pleasure meeting the Holmes,' said goodbye the client and left. Lisbeth giggled.  
'She's not my wife!' yelled the detective, but it was too late.  
'You know, he could've believed that I was your sister' smiled the girl from ear to ear folding her arm.  
'Nonsense. We don't even look alike,' replied at once the detective.  
'Yeah, keep saying that,' sat down the girl contentedly.

And they went on doing this during the whole week. Clients came with their problem, they listened to their description (who more calmly, who more furiously), but after all the Holmes' solved all their cases so they had no reason to complain. Or Sherlock believed that. Lisbeth was having a whale of a time watching people, examining them and their reaction. Sherlock satisfied her thirst for knowledge and after the showing off, he asked her opinion. They were a good team. Lisbeth continued saying that whereas Sherlock knew that. Eventually the mess was cleaned up by Mrs Hudson and the girl. John looked in a few times, stopped the clients before they could punch the detective in the face. Sometimes he felt like a dad with two handful children. Lisbeth was basically reasonable, but definitely not when she was with Sherlock. When John moved out he feared leaving his friend alone. At first he thought that she could control Sherlock. Then he realised that she didn't intend to do it. They prone to be dangerous, but on the other hand they had a sweet side when the acted like an old, married couple. It was funny to watch them. Sometimes the soldier was concerned about the welfare of the word, sometimes he just giggled and shook his head. Lisbeth was the moral compass of Sherlock, or on the contrary, she was also the magnet next to the compass.  
Lisbeth liked John a lot. She saw the perfect partner in him for Sherlock. She comprehended why they made such a good team. She wouldn't tell, but she envied John, just a bit. Their friendships was the most beautiful she had ever seen. 

'Sherlock!' yelled the girl in a flurry. She was sitting in the kitchen reading (this time on her own) laptop. 'I'm on John's blog!'  
'What?' asked the detective doubtfully and with two leaps he was behind the girl's back. He leaned against the table leaving just a few inches between him and her. Sherlock didn't intend to embarrass her, but Lisbeth's heart started to beat rapidly. She could smell the detective's scent and feel his breath on her head. She slowly took a deep breath in order to behave properly (not like an idiot teenage girl). She couldn't decide whether it meant nothing for him, or he was just so curious that he didn't pay attention to play the emotionless sociopath so his gestures revealed him. She didn't manage to figure it out though.  
'Sherlock quickly found, too quickly if I am being self-respecting a new companion to himself, though I don't blame him, as the new side-kick is taller and much prettier than me, but still blonde. And it might be important to mention at this point, just to avoid confusion later on, is a young woman. So far she lives up to my legacy of keeping Sherlock alive, although sometimes I can't decide which of them is more thrilled when it comes to solving a crime. I'll certainly keep you updated on the adventures of the blonde girl and the detective,' quoted Lisbeth John's blog. 'Uncle will kill both of us if he reads it. Not to mention my dad. And Mycroft.'  
'Have you spoken with my brother? That's getting worse. Next time when I go to the shop, the assistant will have been already checked.'  
'Firstly, you never go to the shop. Secondly, it's not just about you,' turned around the girl facing Sherlock. The distance between them was just one inch. Sherlock shrank his eyes.  
'What did he want? Have you met him before?' asked the detective finally. Lisbeth didn't feel that it was the right time to enlighten Sherlock about his father. She had a plan B.  
'Nothing. We just both know that you like the blonde ones,' smiled proudly the girl, implying the fact that John was straw-haired too. As they eyed Lisbeth's stomach turned a somersault. Surprisingly the detective didn't disprove the statement just examined her. He was just about to reply when Mrs Hudson cut in.  
'Greg is waiting outside!' as she yelled, Sherlock turned around and Lisbeth quietly rush the air from her lungs. The moment went away again. Mrs Hudson had a great sense to choose the most unsuitable time to throw in. Or it was in the nick of time.  
'Brilliant, a murder!' cheered Sherlock 'Lisbeth, what are you waiting for?'  
The girl shook her head, cleared her throat and stood up. She was still a bit confused, but there was no time for that. Sherlock literally put her coat on her, not in a romantic way, in the "murder-come-on-finally-something-interesting-hurry-up" way. But then he gallantly offered his arm.  
'Blonde girl, would you like to join me in a murder?'  
'You mean solving a murder, don't you?'  
'This is the disadvantage if you're with a sociopath, you never know,' winked at her the detective. Lisbeth of course was in on the racket.  
'You'll be the next victim if you keep doing this with me, giving equivocal signs,' she thought.


	5. Chapter 5

'This is called a relationship.'  
Part 2

'Uncle,' said Lisbeth hello and hugged the silver-haired inspector. Sherlock observed the scene from a step away, giving no sign of wanting to say hello, offer to shake hands, or whatever friends do when they meet each other.  
'Hullo darling. Sherlock,' the detective nodded. 'How are you? I heard you have already moved in. Isn't it a bit quick?'  
'You know exactly what happened to my landlord, I needed a new flat instantly.'  
'Yeah, and there was no room to let in the heart of London,' murmured the inspector still not being very fond of the idea of her niece living with Sherlock. The girl ignored the frown gathering on his forehead and just smiled.  
'I'd show you the flat, but you know your way around, 'she pulled her uncle's leg who in response casted a miserable glance at her saying 'all too well'.  
'That's enough,' the detective interrupted them giving utterance to his discontent, 'you can chat later. Lestrade, tell me more about the motor gang case.'  
'So it is not a murder after all,' Lisbeth stated, changing to work mood.  
'Of course. He doesn't look as grim as it was a murder,' Sherlock explained quickly. 'I need data.'  
'Right, because everyone should be happy if it's a murder,' the girl remarked under her breath.  
'As you probably know, the infamous motor gang, Red Vipers are in town,' Lestrade begun to explain. 'We've been following their leader for months and our undercover man reported that he would be here for three days. Assault, drug dealing, money laundering, we have enough evidence to put him in prison for a life-'  
'But you can't find him. I have 72 hours to look him up. Child's play. It's a miracle your people even acquired these information.'  
Lestrade gave a sigh trying to remind himself that he needed Sherlock's help, and on the contrary to everyone's advice at the yard, he didn't want to punch him.  
'Our undercover man informed us that the boss's right hand, Tyler Stone drinks usually at Tony's so you can find him there. If you follow him, he'll lead you to the man we're looking for. But you have to get a DNA sample from him. If you have that-  
'You mean when we have that,' the tall man added getting fed up.  
'Yeah, we can arrest him. As for the boss, just locate him and call us immediately. He's extremely dangerous I don't want Lisbeth near him. Nor you Sherlock, but I know I have no influence on you,' the inspector looked Sherlock in the eye severely.  
'Uncle, you needn't worry it's just a simply case.' Lisbeth joined the conversation.  
'I'll not let anyone hurt her Grant,' Sherlock cut them off because he had no time for their argument. The girl's heart jumped, but she cloaked her emotions.  
'You can go now. I need to start working,' the detective dismissed Lestrade.  
'Okay. Just be careful.'  
'Yeah, as always,' murmured the detective as he was dialling a number.  
'Angelo, I need a table at 7 for two. No, I am not bringing John, but a girl. No, I don't care about candles, just make sure that Tony's will be closed,' he commanded the man on the other end of the phone.  
'Is Tony's near Angelo's?' asked the girl her uncle.  
'Yeah, just around the corner.'  
'So Sherlock wants our suspect to be at Angelo's instead of Tony's. Oh, I know why it sounds familiar. Their first date was there with John!' Lisbeth put the pieces together.  
'You mean case, don't you?' Lestrade inquired, hoping he misheard the word.  
'Yeah, whatever,' Lisbeth dropped the subject looking at Sherlock curiously, waiting for the new adventure.  
'We have a table at Angelo's at 7. Dress fancy. You have to charm Tyler, 'the detective instructed his partner.  
'Are you taking me on a date?' her eyes kindled and she has completely forgotten his uncle looking back and forth between them as watching a ping-pong match.  
' _Maybe_ , if you get his DNA sample and bug him,' Sherlock replied and Lisbeth couldn't decide if he was joking.  
'Consider it done,' the detective grinned as the girl folded her arms confidently and winked at him. The inspector shook his head and remembered the time when her niece was still 10 and the killing machines she was chasing were called Daleks, not criminals.

The girl was thrilled when she walked into Angelo's, a lovely Italian restaurant in the heart of London. Although she was in her twenties, in that moment she felt like she was thrown back into the dreaded teenage years which brought for some parties and alcohol, but to her crimes and mysteries, along with some forbidden romance on the way. Laughter mixed with the smell of pizza just out of the oven, city lights sparkling outside, candles shining dimly inside. The tall, willowy, straw-haired creature, graceful as never before, was impossible to overlook and attracted disapproving looks of the same sex but attention of the opposite. They followed the long, black waterfall with their eyes, wondering which table would the coal-black dress seat itself, measuring the competition. Meanwhile Lisbeth, unaware of the glances around her, was looking over the crowd, her heart beating with anticipation. As the navy blue eyes landed on the pale, grim figure of ennui, the curious admirers could tell they lost the battle even before it started. As smiling from ear to ear she sat down. As blue met with blue, both wearing black from top to bottom, neither of them said a world. Navy, waiting for to be complimented, being quite amused. Sky, waiting to be enlightened, being quite confused.  
'You look… nice' the silence was broken by a deep, confused voice. Sherlock could not help, but wink intensively. It didn't sound like a compliment, it sounded as if he was talking about the weather, or rather a compliant. He was very distracted by the tight black dress emphasising her figure and her curves, showing her swan neck and delicate shoulders. Silver jewellery sparkled in her neck and on her fingers, which the detective immediately identified to be a family heirloom. Exceptionally she was wearing a peculiar pair of high heels, instead of wearing a pair of converse, comfortable for running around. This evening she didn't intend to run anywhere.  
'Thank you darling. Since it's our first date-' the girl begun, but he interrupted her.  
'We're not on a date. We're working on a case,' he stated, reminding her and himself.  
'You're wearing a tie. You never wear tie,' Lisbeth remarked, smiling lovely to the waiter who has just appeared, whishing the expression on his face would be on Sherlock's.  
'Part of the play.' he replied sulkily, taking no notice of the waiter.  
She was just about to reply when the suspect walked in with a rather annoyed look on his face.  
'Your turn,' he commanded the blonde one. As sighing she stood up and leaned closer to the detective. He frowned and couldn't decide what confused him more, the 3 plus inches in the girl's height or her unconventional behaviour.  
'You would be lost without me,' she rolled her eyes. She was so close, he could catch her perfume.  
'No. I would be free and relaxed,' he looked implying at the suspect, who, thanks to Lisbeth's position, already took notice at her.  
'Said all men ever,' she turned heels and set off to the bar. Sherlock couldn't find the cheeky, clever and eager-to-learn, sneaker-lover girl in the sassy, confident, cold woman's high-heeled shoes. He didn't have to think twice which one he liked more.

Lisbeth just had to distract the suspect while she bugged him and got a DNA sample, you know, just the usual stuff. It was not against her collar since she could be charming if she wanted to. Really, she could. She took advantage of her tall, willowy, slim figure, pale skin and bright, navy blue eyes. Tonight, she felt she could conquer the world.  
She slowly walked by the man looking at him flirty, flipping her hair. He stared at the girl unabashedly, eyeing her up and down, and she could see he was taking her clothes off in his head. The girl rolled her eyes also in her head. Nevertheless, she hated to admit but she found it appealing. He didn't expect Sherlock to be astounded, but disapproving looks and annoyed grunts were certainly not what she was preparing for.  
'Can I buy you a drink…?' Tyler inquired the minute she sat down.  
'Clara,' Lisbeth replied saying the first name which came up to her mind 'And yes. I'd like a drink with such a handsome man.' _Awful_ – she added in her head, but it felt like a thousand years since she has flirted with anyone. Except Sherlock of course, but that required much more brain, and much less makeup.  
'Tyler,' He smiled broadly and kissed her hand. She remembered how to blush, which was at his liking. He waved to the bartender.  
'What can I give you?' asked a young male voice, pondering what that hideous man had to offer for such a gorgeous girl.  
'Same as he's drinking,' the blonde replied without taking her eyes off Tyler. The bartender nodded without a world, sighing quietly. Tyler's smile widened.  
'I like women who has the stomach for scotch.'  
'Well,' she sipped from the drink. And congratulated herself for keeping a straight face. She hated scotch as it reminded her of his father, always having an expensive bottle of it on his desk. Besides, it tasted awful. 'I have a stomach for lots of things.'  
Lisbeth would never say such words. The well-educated, sophisticated, determined and self-reliant Lisbeth wouldn't even talk to a man like Tyler. But in that moment she was playing a role and she had to portray the character perfectly. As the drink filled her almost empty stomach she felt more and more confident.  
'Want to show me some?' he leaned closer stepping into her personal zone. She sipped again from the whiskey and raised an eyebrow.  
'Maybe,' the girl answered coquettishly. 'But the guy over there,' she looked at Sherlock, 'Is my husband's sniff dog. Therefore I can't leave with you right know. But if I say that I'm feeling ill, he'll escort me home and we can meet by your car in thirty minutes. Which one is yours?'  
'I've a motorcycle,' he replied proudly. Naturally the girl deducted it from his outfit. Besides, of course, he was the suspect, known to be the member of the Red Vipers. Still she had to know which vehicle was his exactly. She couldn't bug him, because he wasn't carrying any bag, just wearing a leather jacket. Although the jacket could work, Lisbeth intended to give him her number. If he searched for the paper with her number, there would be a chance that he found the bug in his pockets. She wasn't risking that. Plan and note all the possibilities and always be extremely careful-she learnt from Sherlock.  
'Black chopper. Recently polished with red flames on it.'  
'A bad guy with a motorcycle. Exactly my type, 'she put down her drink.  
'And what about you, sweetheart? What's under the angelic surface?'  
'There is just one way to find out, isn't there?' The girl drew her forefinger slowly down his chest.  
That was the sign. Sherlock stood up and quickly marched towards them.  
'Shit. Looks like our plan has just changed. I'll give you my number, give me a ring when you have a free night, tiger'  
Having quickly written down a fake number on a napkin, Lisbeth leaned closer to him and slipped it into his pocket. She could smell alcohol on him. He was taking heavy breaths because of her closeness. She took the advantage of his distraction and switched their drinks. Of course she'd drunk exactly the same amount as the quantity which was missing from his glass, so he couldn't tell their drinks apart. Almost definitely he wasn't paying attention, but her motto was, always be precise.  
'Mrs Crowfield, it's time to go,' Sherlock arrived in that exact moment. Perfect timing. Coincidence? No, excellent team work.  
'It was a pleasure,' the girl winked at Tyler, left money at the bar and raised her glass 'I'll have this.'  
Sherlock grabbed her arm and escorted the girl out.  
'You didn't bug him, did you?' he inquired when they were far away enough. The blonde walked by the car park and found Tyler's vehicle.  
'Nop. But I bugged his motorcyle,' she smiled proudly as she put the little device on it.  
'I'll have this before you spill it,' he took away the glass, noting with disapproval that the girl's movement became rather uncoordinated.  
'It was a piece of cake. He was so enchanted by me, he didn't notice anything. I needn't have to be so careful. Oh God, I've forgotten how charming I can be.'  
'It's time to go home Lisbeth. You're drunk,' he rolled his magnificent eyes.  
'No, I'm not Sherlock. I'm just thrilled.'  
He sighed and looked at her disdainfully. Lisbeth knew what was coming and folded her arms in defence.  
'Your stomach is empty. You hadn't eaten anything in the past four hours, because you were so nervous, although I have no idea why, we both know that you're capable of this mission and even if something went wrong, I would fix it. You'd a glass of wine, you'd been chatting with one of your friends. No, you don't consider her as a friend, but your father wants you to have a good relation with her. Why are you so influenced by him? You act like you don't care, but he's still got control over you,' Lisbeth started to lose her patience. She knuckled, her jaw strained. Sherlock knew nothing about her relationship with her father. Or he saw it clearly and that's why she was so upset. 'You drank whiskey, exactly as much as he'd drunk. It was clever, but unnecessary. He was so full of testosterone and alcohol that he wouldn't notice. Additionally he's an idiot, not like he would pay attention to such tiny detail. You dressed charmingly, set your hair carefully, put make up and even perfume on. But it's not immense enough; it's not that kind of perfume he likes. It is more natural. It would work on someone who likes simple scents, maybe on a chemist. You'd done everything to impress him, that's why I don't see why you were so anxious. On balance Lisbeth, yes, you're drunk,' he finished saying almost everything with one breath.  
Lisbeth closed her eyes, took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down.  
'How can be someone so clever and observant still so stupid at the same time?' she murmured to herself.  
'Pardon?' the detective raised his eyebrow.  
 _Put the pieces together, you idiot. I didn't prepare for him, but for_ _you_ -thought Lisbeth, but she didn't say it out loud.  
'C'mon. Let's get a taxi and go home. It was a long day,' proposed the detective, but the blond one shook her head.  
'You said that if I managed to bug him and get a DNA sample from him, you would take me to a date.'  
'You just had your date,' he smiled contentedly. For 5 seconds she want quiet. Lull that foreruns the storm, then the girl burst out:  
'You bastard! You little shit! You utter-' bellowed Lisbeth irately, but Sherlock put his hand over her mouth.  
'Don't swear Lisbeth! Don't spoil the night! You've done a great job. I have just outwitted you.'  
It was the last straw for the girl so she kicked the detective. Sherlock's face convulsed with pain which was a consolation for her. She chuckled as he growled. She had to try really hard not to fall in her shoes.  
As sighing like a tired father who got fed up with his rebel teenage daughter, he put down the drink, stepped closer and picked up the girl. Although Lisbeth was tall, she was also slim, so the detective easily carried her on his shoulder. He lifted the drink and headed towards the road to catch a taxi.  
'I hate you,' murmured the girl, but frankly she enjoyed being carried and she was too tired to protest.  
'Believe me, I like you more when you're sober,' he stated and put her down as they reached the high street. The girl folded her arms and looked at him petulantly. Sherlock watched the road, searching for a cab knowing that she was staring at him. Suddenly, the girl was hit upon an idea.  
'I was right! I was right the whole time! It was a date after all!' She jumped up and down blissfully, her shoes in her hand.  
'What? Lisbeth, don't be childish' begun the detective, but he shut up. The girl helped him a lot, probably has just solved the case and even flirted with that moron man. Even so he wanted to reply he decided that she deserved a little victory. A bleak smile appeared on his face and an appealing scent hit him, her perfume. Why would she use that scent?


	6. Chapter 6

'This is called a relationship.'  
Part 3

Lisbeth head was painfully aching when she woke up. Grumbling she turned in the bed and put a pillow on her head.  
'Wake up, you've slept enough,' she heard the deep voice that would normally make her heart beat faster, but now it was extremely annoying.  
'Leave me alone Sherlock! My head is about to explode,' grunted the blonde bird nest below the pillow.  
'You have a hangover. This proves I was right yesterday,' he boasted as he drew the curtains. The girl felt the sudden brightness of sunlight and threw a pillow at him.  
'Here, I made this for you, drink,' his voice sounded almost caring. Lisbeth looked up with one eye from the pillow.  
'You made something… for me. Is that poison?' she was deeply surprised since the detective was incapable of providing himself, not to mention taking care of another human being.  
'No,' he rolled his pale green eyes, 'it is perfectly drinkable. It will make the hangover better. Drink it! We need to work.'  
Lisbeth eyed the detective, then the drink suspiciously. It did not look that bad, but after all who knew what was in it. Sherlock let out an impatient sigh.  
'Thank you,' she said finally. 'Now leave. I need to make myself look like a human being.'  
'You have 20 minutes. We're going out. I found out where your friend, Tyler went. It's a raunchy bar. I'll need distraction, so dress like that.'  
'Dress like what? Like a chic? Our next crime scene will be at beach, won't it?' she joked, kicking of the blanket. Sherlock raised an eyebrow as seeing a T-shirt, two sizes bigger than her with a dalek on it and checked pants. It was a typical geeky 'netflix and chill' outfit, but honestly, she was not expecting any visitors. Besides, she was too preoccupied with her headache to be embarrassed by him.  
'You can come in your pyjamas too, I don't care. We need to get kicked out,' he replied, his glance returning to the girl's face.  
'What? If you want to get flanged out you just have to be yourself,' she smiled mischievously as she raised the glass to her lips.  
'Very funny. There's a secret door in the alley where the backdoor leads. We will probably need to run too.'  
'Are we going to break into the headquarters of the most notorious motor band?!' Lisbeth choked on the drink, partly because of its taste, partly because of their weekend plans.  
'Yes. 20 minutes.'  
'Are you joking?' she burst out, wiping her mouth with her hand, 'We're going to the nest of the red vipers. I need to dress appropriately. One hour and I'm ready.'  
'Oh, women,' he examined the ceiling in disbelief.  
'Shut up, you're more delicate when it comes to clothes than me.'  
'I'm the world's only consulting detective. I have to be flawless I can't be chasing around criminals in sweat pants, can I?  
'Well, I'm you partner. You are the clever one, I'm the nice.'  
'Nice? Nicish and I was kind.'  
'Shut up. I need to catch a ganger, you can chose which suit you want to wear.'

The taxi picked up a tall, delicate girl who looked like she was going to a night club wearing fewer layers of clothes than the climate would imply, and a willowy, curly haired man who seemed as he was going to work in a suit. Well, a cabbie just delivers people, doesn't ask.  
'You look like a lawyer. People don't dress like that in bars,' the girl pointed out surveying Sherlock. It's not that she didn't like him in his favourite purple shirt. The buttons seemed to have a hard work. Lisbeth bit her lips and looked away.  
'With you dressed like that nobody would bother looking at me.'  
'Compliment or compliant?'  
'Compliant. You look like an empty headed chic.'  
'Nice as always. Good answer.'  
A ghost of smile flashed on Sherlock's face.

The sparkling green neon lights advertising the bar were off, given the morning brightness. The building looked as it was just about to tumble down. There were almost no windows, the few of them were filthy, nearly impossible to look through. As Sherlock opened it, the door answered creakingly and the smell of alcohol, unwashed man and cigarette hit Lisbeth. She wrinkled her noise as they stepped in she could see men staring at her unabashedly. She came to a halt as bolt of fear and disgust hit her. _If Uncle knew I'm a place like this dressed like this, he would kill Sherlock and never let me step out of the flat again except wearing blankets._ \- she thought. The detective recognised the change in her, so he encouragingly wreathed his arms around Lisbeth whose heart started pumping the blood rapidly as she felt the man's chest against her back. Sherlock found it funny that when it came to head-butting murderers with a knife she kept her cool, and a filthy bar put her off. Sitting down at the bar, they asked for two whiskeys. Sherlock didn't even wait for the drinks, he left to find the back door and look for the chucker outs.  
'Hey blondie, wanna have a good night with me?' a forty something man, clearly drunk as a fiddler, turned to Lisbeth.  
'It's nearly noon you moron,' she rolled her eyes, turning to the other direction. Though taken aback, he didn't give up.  
'Time doesn't matter. I live two blocks away,' he put his hand on the girl's tight. Lisbeth slapped his hand away furiously and stood up to look for Sherlock.  
The man caught her arm, confining it, smiling. The girl cried out in pain. Clenching her fists, she was about to wipe that smug smile out of his face, when a low voice interrupted her.  
'Leave before your nose breaks,' Sherlock just appeared in time, furiously grabbed the man by his shirt and stood in front of Lisbeth, covering her and blocking her view. Lisbeth could imagine the frustration in his eyes.  
'Sherlock, you don't want to have a fight, do you? I know we want to get kicked out, but I don't want to see you wrestling with half of the bar,' she put her hand on his free arm trying to look in his eyes, but the they were fixed on the man, blue fury burning in them The detective still was holding the man by his shirt, his face emotionless; the girl had to admit he looked real dangerous in that moment. She was almost too afraid to address him again, as she felt that Sherlock was on the verge of getting them into much more trouble she signed up for in the morning. Finally, he let go of the intruder who after pondering for a moment streaked off.  
'Thank you,' she murmured taking out a deep breath.  
'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you alone. Let's go,' he grabbed her arm, paying attention not to hurt her. Lisbeth had no time to realise that he had just apologised.  
'I didn't find the back door, so we need to get kicked out. I need to. Wait a little and follow me,' he instructed her, leading her to the middle of the room.  
'Right, but how?'  
'I'm going to kiss you,' out of nowhere Lisbeth heard the words she was dreaming of. Taken aback for a second, she looked up to the detective, confusion all over her face. She suspected that something was up to.  
'Come again?' the girl wondered if the detective was out of his mind.  
'I kiss you and then you slap me and say you don't want to see me again. I won't leave you alone, you yell in order to attract attention. They will throw me out.'  
"Well, that's not exactly how I imagined our first kiss,' complained the girl, but of course she seized the opportunity.  
Sherlock simply kissed her without flame. As his curly tresses titillated her cheeks, she overflowed with passion. She ran her fingers through the coal black hair and kissed him intensively. She's been waiting for this since they met. Their lips danced swiftly, while Sherlock's arms found their places on the girl's silk skin. He lost in that kiss, just for a moment, but he did. All the doubt in the girl disappeared.  
'Lisbeth,' gasping heavily, the detective stopped the kiss. 'We're working.'  
'I don't care,' murmured the girl, eyes closed, being on the spur of the moment.  
'Lestrade!' Sherlock warned her. Lisbeth's eyes sprung up and regarded the petulantly. He only called her Lestrade when she was annoying him.  
'You bastard,' slapped him the girl genuinely. 'At the whole time you acted like I meant nothing to you. Leave me alone I don't want to see you again!' She indeed enjoyed their little scene and taking a bit of revenge.  
'But Clara, it was not my fault!' he clutched his hand to her hips. Lisbeth couldn't, help but enjoy the situation and smile faintly as she remember her pseudoname.  
'No! Stop! Leave me alone! Help! Someone get this man away from me!'  
This got the chucker-out's attention. He roughly grabbed Sherlock and took him away. Lisbeth's eye met with the detective's as she nodded. She quickly disappeared in the crowd before anyone could even think about entertaining her, while following her partner. She heard a loud dump as Sherlock landed on the filthy ground. She waited until the chucker-out went back then slipped off the door.  
Sherlock dusted his clothes and ruffled his hair as he regarded himself in the dusty windows. He looked extremely thrilled as he clapped his hands.  
'Are you ready?' he turned to the girl eyes glistening with excitement.  
'I guess the fun part comes now.' she remarked, being worried about the next step.  
'Yeah, the game is now really on,' he pulled out his gun. Lisbeth's eyes widened as she scanned their surroundings.  
'It's the time when we should call uncle and do anything but don't go there, is it not?'  
'Exactly.'  
'But we're going in still.'  
'Of course. C'mon. Did you bring your gun?'  
'What gun?' she burst out. Deducting and going to crimes scenes was one thing, but she was sure that laying an ambush for a crime organisation was not in the job description of a consulting detective; and above all it certainly was not in hers. 'Where the hell should I get a gun?'  
'Oh, John had one.'  
'Well, I hoped that you noticed from the pair of shorts and the crop top I was wearing that I'm not John.'  
He rolled his eyes:  
'Okay, just stay behind me. Let's go.' he grabbed her arms, pulling her closer to the door, but she came to a halt.  
'Sherlock, you can't go in there we don't know what is and who is behind that door. 2 men, 10, 20? You will get us both killed.'  
'You're right,' he let go of her, and Lisbeth thought for a second that he yielded to reason. 'You stay here waiting for the police, I go in.'  
'No, Sherlock, wait!' but it was too late because he had already disappeared.  
'Shit,' stated very sophisticatedly the girl, sent a text message to her uncle and she could only hope that the detective knew what he was doing.

As the floor cracked underneath their steps Lisbeth dreaded that either the aluminium stars would collapse or someone would notice them. The sun nearly couldn't get through the filthy windows which gave them the cover of darkness. They followed the low voices in semidarkness, becoming clearer with every carefully taken step. Lisbeth could hear her heart pounding heavily, muscles stiff, body tense. Excitement and insecurity were battling in her. Taking down one man together was one thing. But walking into the lion's nest willingly was something even she would call madness. She didn't want to seem a coward or disappoint Sherlock, but a voice in her head was constantly lecturing her that she was risking her life. And unfortunately it was her uncle's voice, to whom she'd promised to stay out of trouble. As the voices grew louder Lisbeth's pulse started to reach an unhealthy scale.

'Then it is done. We expect the next cargo to arrive tomorrow in the Port of London,' stated a deep voice assertively.  
'I can assure you that this is clean stuff,' replied another, intimidated.  
'It better be, if you don't want to find yourself choked in your own blood,' a roar of laughter echoed through the building. Lisbeth gulped. A few more steps and they could see where the voices came from. As they hid in the shelter of the shadows they could see a frightful tall man standing in the centre, most probably the gang leader. He looked exactly like the baddie in a movie: long hair, scruffy beard, skin covered with a wide variety of tattoos, leather clothes, boots, and of course a gun in his pocket. There were other six gang members wearing similar outfits, all of them armed, either with gun, but in every case with knives. Lisbeth stomach cramped knowing if they were the fight, she and the detective would be dead within minutes. They were packing white packages into bags, clearly trading drugs.  
'I have to do a bargain with the Snipers as well,' stated the man whom they were buying the cargo.  
'Do I look like a fucking Sniper to you?' snapped impatiently the baddie.  
'I-I just meant to ask when they are coming,' the man stepped back, raising his hands in surrender  
'I'm not your telephone. If Eddie said he would be here, then he would. A fortnight and they will be in town.'  
'I'll order some new package then.'  
Sherlock's eyes kindled and Lisbeth new that he found his new target. Suddenly her sixth sense kicked in as she felt a strange feeling hit her as if someone was watching her. Unfortunately she was proven true when she heard a click. She would recognise that sound anywhere. That was the sound of a ruffle.  
'It's okay Lisbeth, we're gonna be fine,' Sherlock whispered, but no matter how hard she wanted to believe him, she couldn't.  
'Boss, look what I have found.' yelled the man standing in front of them, beam of satisfaction on his face. 'This two sneaking around,' all the faces turned towards them, and Sherlock didn't even bother taking out his gun, he was perfectly aware that they were outnumbered. Lisbeth froze to the ground, her mouth run dry and her stomach churned. The man snatched her, gun pointed at her temple; she was roughly dragged to the boss. From the corner of her eye, she saw that two gang members grabbed Sherlock and took away his gun. She realised that now they were completely vulnerable. The boss smiled broadly as he examined her thoroughly.  
'Hmm, pretty, isn't she? Maybe we can have some fun with her before we kill her,' the sound of laughter made her blood run cold, but she felt fury rising in her. Preparing to spat an insult, the detective cut her off:  
'Or maybe you can have a little fun with me,' Sherlock's voice interrupted the laughter. Lisbeth's eyes went wide as terrible silence fell on them.  
'Are you a fucking fairy? Do you want some bullet in your knees? Let's see how you like that.' As the boss aimed the gun at the detective, his partner gulped.  
'Or,' he continued, his calmness undisturbed, his voice low and confident. 'I could tell you why the Snipers are not going to turn up. You have played the fool with them, just like now you're trying to outflank the Red Vipers,' he turned to the dealer suddenly.  
'That's not true!' He protested too quickly, his voice full of sheer panic. The boss turned to him.  
'Are you fucking with us?' He grabbed the man by collar.  
In that moment loud shouting echoed through building as a unit of SWAP appeared out of nowhere. Sherlock reacted quickly, taking advantage of the momentary panic, grabbed the girl and run behind safe cover.  
'Are you okay?' he asked, his hand on the blonde's shoulder. He completely ignored the grunting, bodies being pushed to the ground and swearing. Fortunately no guns were fired, so they knew nobody got hurt. As they were kneeling in front of each other, only a few inches between them, Sherlock could hear the girl's heart beating. His bright eyes filled with concerned locking into the navy blue confusion. Everything happened so fast Lisbeth couldn't process. She went from having been sure that she would die today, to having been sure her uncle would kill both of them.  
'Yeah, but let's not do this again, okay?' she let out a deep breath and chuckled faintly. Sherlock allowed himself a short grin before having a look around.  
'If we stay here, the police is going to take us to the station to ask boring questions. I suggest leaving, now.'  
'You are just afraid of uncle, are you not?' a blonde head joined the curly one, peering at the police behind a wooden crate.  
'Afraid? Never.'  
'Well, I am, so let's go,' a ghost of smile flashed upon Sherlock's face as they took off, however the girl stopped suddenly.  
'What?' he raised an impatient eyebrow.  
'I can't go outside looking like this, wearing almost nothing.' Sherlock cast a dark glance at her.  
'Did you really just survive the arrest one of the most infamous gangs and you are concerned about how you look?'  
'You are not the one who's wearing hot pants. I have an image to maintain.'  
'Here,' He put his (and her) favourite coat on her. Lisbeth could smell the detective sweet scent on it and smiled victoriously,' Let's go.'  
As they almost slipped though the police, and only a door stood between them and freedom a voice stopped them:  
'You two! Stop where you are or I swear to God, I arrest both of you!'  
'Oh shit,' stated the girl and knew they were busted.

After a long and loud lecturing including 'Were you out of your right mind?!' I thought you were responsible!' 'What were you thinking?!' 'Have you any idea what could have happened if we hadn't arrived in time?' 'My brother would skin me if I lost you:' 'Your father will send you away, you can be sure.' 'I am disappointed in you, young lady!' 'Lizzie, I'm so glad that you are safe and sound thank God!' 'Have you any idea what would I do without you? Because I don't.' 'Keeping you alive is my division.' 'What the hell are you wearing?' 'I'm going to murder him'' Lisbeth was sent to the ambulance to make sure she was perfectly okay and of course to give time for Greg to shout at Sherlock. She felt sorry for the detective who just stood there listening to her uncle's reprimand. Occasionally he was saying something in defence, but he was patiently waiting for the grey haired man to stop. Inside he knew he deserved it. 'I took care of her, Lestrade. I promised I would.'

'You knew exactly that there were 7 men inside,' stated Lisbeth calmly, blanket around her.  
'Of course. 8 motorcycles were outside the club, two of which didn't look like they belonged to the band. 6 band members, plus the man they were making a bargain,' replied the detective still on the spur of the moment.  
'And you were sure I would call uncle.'  
'Obvious. You would never do anything without backup and unarmed.'  
'He's really furious this time. My father will hear about this.' Lisbeth smiled at her own reference.  
'Well, he shouldn't worry. We were not in direct danger.'  
'Still you risked both of our lives hoping that maybe you could get information.'  
'Which I got.'  
'But what if you were wrong? What if there had been more men in there? What if the backup didn't arrive in time?'  
'The police station is 10 minutes away, and it's in the patrol area, I knew they would arrive at the right moment,' Sherlock grunted as he was getting fed up with having to explain himself.  
'Sherlock, you have to understand, when it comes to our life, it's not a game.'  
'Oh, shut up Lestrade. It is a game. It is _the_ game. Did you not enjoy it? The adrenaline running through your veins? Just the two of us chasing criminals? he asked in excitement grabbing the blonde's shoulders and shaking it.  
'Yeah, I have to admit it's kind of thrilling,' she couldn't say anything else to that handsome face teaming with life.  
'But-' she started, but was interrupted.  
'Here, buy us some coffee, you look like you need it. I'll go home and find a new case,' he put 10 pounds in the girls hand and caught a cab. She was so taken aback that he would pay for something she couldn't even protest.


	7. Chapter 7

This is called a relationship  
Part 4/4

As a just reward Lisbeth stood in the queue, her head in the clouds, her favourite coat on her. Fidgeting, as adrenaline still didn't run out of her, she was waiting for coffee: white chocolate mocha for her and a black coffee with two sugars for the detective. With a victorious smile on her face, her eyes glowing with happiness, drunk by the scent of the coat she ordered. Humming happily she paid for the coffee.  
'Names?' asked a tired barista who must have been on his last shift, not mirroring the customer's enthusiasm.  
'Lisbeth for the mocha and Sherlock for the other,' he raised an eyebrow.  
'Again, a fangirl? Everyone just seems to have a boyfriend named Sherlock,' Lisbeth was taken aback and at once returned to Earth. The barista started something in her mind and managed to transform her joy into fury.  
'Excuse me? It's not in your job description to choose my name. If I say Darth Vader you have to write that down without raising an eyebrow. Now, my partner SHERLOCK,' she emphasised the name clearly, 'whose coat I'm wearing is waiting for me so give me the damn coffee before I call the D.I. to shut this place down, because don't think for one second that I don't who's meeting place this is,' Besides the angelic look Lisbeth could be a complete brat. The barista's face fell and the pen stopped in his hands. The girl grabbed the coffees and left in a quick fury, the door closing behind her with a loud bang.

As she stepped distractedly out of the café she could probably never visit again, just like in a film she bumped into someone. Her coffee slipped out of her hand and the white crème spread across the street.  
'I'm terribly sorry miss, it's entirely my fault. Let me buy you another,' offered a deep voice, just as creamy as her coffee was and strong arms stopped her from tripping over. Lisbeth looked up and her eyes found an extremely handsome face. The man standing in front of her was a head taller than her, piercing light blue icy eyes in contrast with a thick mouth forming a friendly smile. His features were hard, masculine, with high cheekbones and scars on his face. His blonde hair was cut in a simple style. Lisbeth recognised at once that he used to be a soldier. He was now in his late 30s, probably retired. There was something odd, yet compelling about him. She shook her head to clear it and looked at the man's arms still holding her.  
'I'm sorry,' he let go of her as followed the girl's eyes smiling apologetically, not even raising an eyebrow because of her outfit. 'What kind of coffee was that, Beth?'  
The girl was taken back for a second then she realised that he her name was on the cup lying on the street.  
'It's Lisbeth.'  
'Hi there Lisbeth. Pleasure to meet you. I'm Ian. Why don't we go in and I can buy you a drink?' He offered his hand and shook Lisbeth's firmly.  
'Thank you, but you don't have to buy another. I am the one to blame, I was running like a maniac.'  
'Yeah, I could see you were quite upset. Is everything okay? Do you need help?' His concerned eyes met with the girl's and she suddenly had a strange feeling that Gatsby himself was standing in front of her, with the endlessly reassuring smile on his face.  
'No, I'm fine, thank you. Just the barista took a rise out of me.'  
'Oh, if you want, I can punch him in the face for you,' he offered sounding almost serious, but his eyes revealed that he was flirting.  
'Thank you, but it won't be necessary,' she put her hair behind her ears subconsciously.  
'What did he do? Did he ask your number?'  
'No, he didn't. On the contrary, I think I frightened him.'  
'Don't get me wrong, but I can't imagine how can someone this beautiful be frightening?'  
'You should see me in the mornings before coffee.'  
'Well, I would like to. If you give me your number, I know a place where coffee is excellent and we can frighten baristas together.'  
'Oh,' Lisbeth was caught by surprise. She enjoyed flirting, but never imagined that the man would ask her out. Although he was extremely charming, still he was way too old for her. 'I have a…. I don't know. I'm very flattered and you are really charming, but I'm in a… relationship or …something like that.' she muttered, not knowing what to say to him, or to herself.  
'You don't seem so sure about him.' he raised an eyebrow, his smile widening.  
'Yeah, he's strange, but still…'Lisbeth bit her lips as she couldn't decide what was she feeling.  
'Well, if you ever need help intimidating baristas, or have trouble with your boyfriend, I give you my number and don't hesitate to call me.' He wrote down his number on a piece of paper and gave it to Lisbeth. Who was carrying paper and pen except lawyers nowadays?  
'Thank you. I… might as well do,' smiled the girl, the man with a wide smirk on his face gallantly bowed his head and disappeared in the café.

Lisbeth stepped quite disturbed into flat. She was convinced that she only had eyes for Sherlock, and she knew deep down that she was in love with her. And yet… meeting with Ian mad her realise that never had Sherlock made any move. She was tired of living in doubt. The navy blue coat on her shoulders suddenly was weighting down heavily upon her. Having put down the coffee on the table next to the tall figure lying on the couch she sulked into the armchair. Absent-mindedly she was blankly looking at the piece of paper given by Ian, wondering about the man, but especially about her relationship status. She decided that going mad would be the perfect expression.  
'What's that?' inquired a deep voice.  
'A phone number. I've bumped into a man and he gave it to me.' she answered bluntly.  
'I know.'  
'Wha-at? How?'  
'You've been fidgeting for 5 minutes, you are clearly upset. You brought me coffee, but not to yourself. You could have drunk it, but you usually buy a big mocha, although you drink too quickly, it lasts for approximately 5 minutes, but the café is 3 minutes away, drinking while walking makes the journey even longer, therefore you would still have coffee left. Obviously you could have lost your drink somewhere considering that you are clumsy enough, it could have been your fault, however I can smell a faint scent of cologne on you which means you ran into a man. If he's not an idiot, he would offer you to buy another coffee, which you would kindly, _well_ depends on your mood, refuse, then he would ask your number and since you wouldn't give it to him, he would give his. Simple. I don't even need to open my eyes.  
'Are you jealous?' smiled the girl roguishly. Trying her best to sound as if she was joking, she was quite curious about the answer.  
'Why would I?' frowned the detective, opened his eyes and looked at her like the supposition was totally nonsense. 'We're not in a relationship.'  
Lisbeth felt her world fall apart.  
'Oh, that's not true,' she refuted him. She was still smiling, in spite of the fact that she was on the edge of a cliff from where she never dared to jump off. 'We live together, we solve crimes together, we make a good team, we annoy and criticise people together, we-  
'Well, that's what we did with John in nutshell,' she was interrupted by Sherlock. He was still lying, looking at the ceiling. Lisbeth felt fury rising in her as he didn't even bother to look at her.  
'Yes! But he's married know.'  
'Will you stop implying that we were a couple?' she managed to get his attention as the pale blue eyes landed on her reproachfully.  
'You were a couple that's obvious. And you have never denied that. That's why I don't get it. Why are you constantly refusing that there's something between us?' She pressed closer to him, the paper crumpling in her fist.  
'Friendship. Respect. Trust. Infatuation. Team work. Same purpose. Similar sociopath tendency. These are what we got.'  
'Exactly!' She extended her arms victoriously. 'These are the basics. Roughly. And there's much more. Our moments. As we look at each other secretly, and know what the other thinks. As we are close to each other the air is sparkling between us. We know the darkest side of the other, furthermore we can understand and accept it. As we bring out the good and well the bad side of each other. When you are at a loss for word due to me, and when I lose my cool because of you. When we know the truth but everybody around us is an idiot.' confessing her feelings, the girl can't help letting her tears out. There was an unmistakable beauty in her genuine tears. 'When we arguing like an old, married couple. When we kiss, and forgot everything around us just for that moment. This is, Sherlock, this is called a relationship.'  
All the time she was speaking Sherlock stared at her, stone cold, without emotion on his face. Lisbeth couldn't decide whether it was a defensive reaction to hide his feelings, or she did indeed mean nothing to him. The heavy coat of silence fell onto them. The girl was leaning against her knees, waiting for something to happen, for Sherlock to say something, for Mrs. Hudson to burst in, for the flat to collapse, anything. Finally, the detective frowned and winked confusingly. Lisbeth took a deep breath and tried it last:  
'I don't want you to be my boyfriend like the society expects. That's so stupid. I don't want a _normal_ relationship. I don't expect you to hold my hand, to buy me roses, to pay me compliments, to show any feeling in public. I don't want to change you, I don't want you to do anything for me, or sacrifice something for me. I just want you to be yourself, and admit that I mean something to you. Please, Sherlock, just once, forget the deduction, the showing off, the emotionless mask you put on and say that I'm more than a friend,' glassy tears fell onto the ground glistening in the sunshine. She got fed up with being in doubt.  
Sherlock just laid there, scanning the ceiling. As he opened his mouth to say something, looking very lost Lisbeth's eyes kindled. But in the end no sound came out of his mouth.  
'That's it. I'm done,' pinned the girl down, stood up, took off the coat, turned tail and walked out of the room. The door stood wide open.

Sherlock slowly walked into his flat and found John sitting in his chair drinking tea. As he noticed his coffee, untouched, gone cold next to a plate of cookies he felt as he was punched in his stomach.  
'Hello. Mrs Hudson let me in. I heard you're currently working on a case. How's it going?' He inquired cheerfully. The tall man did not reply just put down his coat, picked up his violin and started to play. He stood by the window, stared out of it blankly while his face was emotionless, depressing music filling the room. John realised at once that something was wrong.  
'Sherlock, what happened?' He asked, but no reply came as the music rhythm of the music became more aggressive.  
John put away the tea and cleared his throat. 'Where's Lisbeth?' He looked around. The fiddle-bow stopped in Sherlock's hand.  
'What happened to her?' John raised his voice as he started to lose his patience. He was standing now, eyeing the back of his friend.  
'She's gone,' stated Sherlock in a dry voice.  
'You mean she's dead?' John bellowed, taking a threatening step towards him.  
'She's alive John,' he turned abruptly around, 'don't be so overreacting. We had a fight and she decided that she no longer wanted to work with me anymore,' Sherlock snapped.  
'What did you say to her?' furiously the doctor took a deep breath and tried not to punch his friend in the face.  
'John, do we really have to do this?' complained Sherlock irately, placing the violin back on his shoulders.  
'Yes, Sherlock, we have to,' John tightened his jaw. 'Because you must have done something really awful if she got fed up.'  
'I've done nothing, 'he extended his hands in surrender. 'And that was exactly her problem. She wanted me to confess that she is more than a friend.'  
'And why the bloody hell didn't you do it?!' yelled the doctor in disbelief.  
'Ah, John, calm down. Don't be so sentimental.'  
'For God's sakes, Sherlock! You're a bloody idiot.' he shook his head violently as the detective was staring at his questioningly.  
'Sherlock, listen to me! You are never gonna have an opportunity like this again! You've found a girl, who's able to put up with you. And believe me when I say that it is extremely difficult. Furthermore she's intelligent and tries to keep step with you. She learns psychology at the university and reads a lot in order to improve her observational skills. She tolerates all of your idiotic and insane things, respects you and stands by your side. She risks her life without hesitation if you tell her to do it. She's your perfect companion, not just in crime Sherlock, even in life. You will never meet another woman who would do all of this for you and even love you. She tries to do every time her best to impress you and she never expects a thank you or praise. In exchange for this she only wants you to show some emotion.'  
Sherlock blinked a few times and looked confusedly to the ground. He didn't know that Lisbeth made such efforts to be in step with him. He took it for granted that the girl interviewed clients with him and they solved cases together. She tended to be cheeky and sometimes complained, but eventually she always did what he asked.  
'She _loves_ me?' was the only thing the detective questioned.  
John chuckled angrily in disbelief.  
'Of course she does! How could you be so blind not to notice it? She was flirting with you all the time.'  
John could hear the penny drop. Thus the detective finally understood. He was indeed blind. All the comments, all the reactions, she even blushed, her pupil expanded. He even remembered her perfume. She really thought that they were dating, that's why she was so anxious and worked-up.  
'And let me tell you something that you probably haven't realised. You, Sherlock Holmes, are in love with her, too. Maybe not in the way normal people fall in love, but you love her in your odd own way.'  
The detective opened his mouth to deny him, but then he went quiet, cogs mashing in his head. He thought about the strange, unknown feeling when they were close… and the kiss. Something happened during that kiss, Sherlock he never expected he would feel. Was that love?  
'I don't know John,' he even astonished himself admitting not being aware of something.  
'You're working on case, aren't you? And you've forgotten it because you were so cross with her. She made you furious. You are constantly arguing with people, but you pay no attention to them, it doesn't matter to you what they think. But you care about this girl. Lisbeth Lestrade managed to make herself important to you. To make herself worthy for your attention.'  
Sherlock was at a loss for words. John was right. How could he possibly forget about his case? Nothing could be more significant than a case, except…the girl.  
'Furthermore your body wants her too. I've seen you, you bastard. I've seen your moments when you were confused. Nevertheless, I know that you don't appreciate beauty, but this girl is gorgeous. In and out. Just try to look at her once as a woman. So lift your moron ass and go apologise!'  
'How? I have no idea how a relationship works.'  
'You should remember this; they are always right. No matter what. Just apologise and admit you were wrong. Wait, there's no bloody way you could do that. At least, try not to be a complete dick.'  
'I have a case to solve,' Sherlock turned to the door, but then stopped.  
'You have a life to live. And a girl to earn,' John passed on his coat to him and kicked him out of the flat.  
Sherlock waved to a cabbie, but before getting in he looked at John and frowned.  
'Thank you,' he murmured unsteadily.  
'Anytime. It was just about time to return to reason, you idiot, 'he embraced him. 'Don't come back without her.'  
The detective nodded awkwardly then sat in the cab.

Sherlock stepped in the café and felt a great relief as he immediately noticed the girl sitting next to the window. For a minute, he just stood helplessly, having no idea how he should approach her. Then he knuckled, took a deep breath and started off before he could chicken out. It was funny to watch the man who's always calm and self-confident, nervously wobbling, having not known what to do, or say. He just stopped in front of the girl watched her as she was staring of the window blankly. Her eyes were slightly red, from which Sherlock deducted she'd been crying. She took notice of the man in front of her, but she didn't move, didn't say a word, didn't show any sign of it. Lisbeth knew that he was waiting for her to decide whether she wanted to talk to her, otherwise he would stand there for eternity.  
'Did you solve the case?' inquired the girl breaking the silence, passing cars mirrored in her navy blue eyes.  
'Yes, I did,' replied the detective in a low voice and sat down slowly. He examined the girl as John told him and he had to admit that she was gorgeous. Even when she was disillusioned and exhausted. Under the surface she had an innocent and vulnerable side. And he hurt that side of her.  
'You know, I never had a relationship. Never, 'confessed the detective, clearing his throat. The girl didn't even bring John up which was a bad sign. 'Yes, I know what you're going to say, John,' She smiled bleakly. 'But I never had a… _girlfriend_. Admittedly, I rarely have friends. I've found a handful of people who are able to put up with me. More or less… And only one person came across who would understand and accept me. Until now.'  
Lisbeth lifted up her eyes and navy merged into pale blue. She could see that the detective wore his heart on his sleeve. At last he was speaking frankly. She turned towards him.  
'You know, I'm not the man of words,' she cleared her throat, 'if I have to talk about my feelings, I mean. Because it doesn't matter how hard I am trying, unfortunately I have feelings.'  
Sherlock stopped for a moment, stopped examining the table and his eyes landed on her face. The girl gave up, because she realised that something big was going on.  
'I've never expected to be interesting for someone, I mean, I never thought that someone would want to be in a relationship with me. And you're right. It's hard to admit, but I lost in that kiss. I've never felt like that before. It scared me, so I denied and hid it. But that was not your fault, it was mine.'  
As he was speaking frankly, showing his soul to her, a tear rolled down her face.  
'I'd never be a normal man you deserve. I can't change, I can't offer you anything, but there's one thing that I could promise. I don't think that I'm capable of a feeling what society call love, but as much as I do, you'll be the one that I'll love.'  
Lisbeth felt her stomach draw a summersault. Once again, she was completely at a loss for words. Now it was his time to wait for her to say something. As she was staring at her, confusion all over her face, Sherlock got fed up, leaped up started off.  
As the girl fall on his neck, he turned tail and held her in a tight embrace. Suddenly he felt as if something broken was repaired inside him.  
'You have spoken to John, haven't you?' she inquired quietly, her face buried in the coal black curls.  
'Indeed I have' – he confirmed, drunk by the scent of blonde beauty.  
'You are a lucky bastard having him.'  
'He said the same thing about you.'  
'Could you do something for me?'  
'Name it.'  
'Buy coffee with me.'  
The barista couldn't mutter up a single word when next to a familiar girl, his hands on her hips indeed stood the one and only Sherlock Holmes. Smiling from ear to ear, Lisbeth slipped her coffee. Sherlock didn't even ask, but put his coat on her, this time in the romantic way.

After they have arrived in the flat and Sherlock sent a text message to John saying _'Everything's ok. She's back. SH'_ while Lisbeth replied to the same number as _'Don't worry Hedgehog, everything is fine, you don't need to kill him. He apologised. Yes, he the mighty Sherlock Holmes admitted that he has feeling for me. Thanks for everything. I owe you. xxx LL'_ They felt awkward. It was the first time they were alone after having admitted that they are in love.  
Are we together now?-Lisbeth wondered. We always have been. We just didn't say out loud. Does it change everything? Does it change anything? Do we continue where it ended? Are we not gonna talk about it? Are we a couple now? Uncle's gonna lock me up, and kill him. And my father?  
'Lisbeth, calm down. You are extremely irritating with your fidgeting. I can hear you screaming in your head.'  
'Are we dating now?' it slipped out of Lisbeth's lips, she even put her hand on her mouth. To her utter astonishment Sherlock didn't seem to be disturbed by the question and looked up from his experiment replying without hesitation.  
'No.'  
'Oh,' the girl's heart sunk and she was extremely confused. She couldn't decide whether she should start yelling, crying, swearing or just saying okay, maybe running away or all of them, but the detective didn't let her time to commit any of them. He rose from his seat and stood in front of the girl.  
'We've been living together for months, getting on each other's nerves, solving cases together and I know you better than you know yourself. This, dear blonde girl, is called a relationship,' Sherlock stated it as a fact, but as sparkling joy filled the girl's face his expression softened. He smiled awkwardly and was about to go back to his experiment, but Lisbeth grabbed his shirt and kissed him passionately. It caught Sherlock by surprise, and he felt electricity running through him as their lips danced heatedly and his hands found their places on the girl's hips. Much to Lisbeth's surprise Sherlock was indeed a great kisser.  
'It told you, you idiot,' she stated and walked away without looking back, leaving there the confused detective with a smile on his face.


	8. Chapter 8

'It is not a game anymore'  
Part 1

Beep, beep, beep.  
'Yes?'  
'Sherlock! Help me! I'm lost! I've been walking for half an hour and I haven't the faintest idea where I am. I'm not even sure that I'm still in London. And that guy looks really creepy, what if I got mugged?' a high-pitched, panic-filled voice disturbed the silence in 221B Baker street. Lisbeth got lost. Going home from the university she was so preoccupied with writing an essay on the tube that she has forgotten to take off. The logical solution would have been to go back where she should have taken off, but of course she thought that she would find her way back. Well, she didn't.  
'Lisbeth, calm down! Where are you?' Sherlock, putting the phone back to his ears, asked calmly.  
'Are you listening to me?! I've just said I'm lost. If I knew where I am, I wouldn't have said lost!'  
'Shut up and find a street name!' The tall figure stood up and looked out of the window as he could see his partner wondering aimlessly around.  
'Wait... Brook street'  
'...' the detective sighed deeply and examined the ceiling.  
'Sherlock, why aren't you answering!? Am I in a bad neighbourhood? What if Jack the Ripper gets me?!  
'Lisbeth, Jack the Ripper is just a legend and he's long dead. Go west to Bond Street and turn right to New Bond Street.' Now it was only matter of time he could actually see the blonde figure turning up.  
'Wait. I'm not that fast. Don't hang up! ... Ok, I'm on New Bond Street.'  
'Turn left and you should find the street familiar.' Sounding like a tired teacher who was repeating himself for the twentieth time he was fidgeting with his index finger waiting for the penny to drop.  
'No way. I'm convinced that I'm in outer London.'  
' _Just_ go.' he took another deep breath.  
Huff and puff was the answer then suddenly:  
'... Oxford street. Wtf? How?'  
'There's still a lot for you to learn when it comes to orientation.' a victorious smile appeared on the detective's face.  
'... Can we … pretend that this didn't happen?' the defeat was clear in the answer.  
'Yes, that's for the best.'  
'Thank you. 10 mins and I'm home.'  
'221B, try not to get lost.'  
'It's something that you aren't gonna forget, isn't it?  
'Indeed it is.'

When the girl collapsed on John's old armchair she could see from the corner of her eye Sherlock smirking, but fortunately he didn't say anything. She decided it was best to avoid eye contact and continued writing her essay keenly. The sound of quick typing filled the room and Sherlock was so curious he couldn't help, but ask:  
'What are you writing?'  
'An essay,' she snapped, being completely absorbed by her laptop. The detective sprang up and laid against the armchair to read. This time Lisbeth was not embarrassed by his closeness, but the warm feeling spread in her stomach.  
'- it is quite controversial, that on the one hand he is an expert in reading all scale of human emotions and is able to distinguish feelings from the most undetectable micro expressions, on the other, he often tends to fail to recognise what the other person is feeling, 'he quoted and then Lisbeth knew it has finally sunk in.  
'Are you writing your dissertation about me?!' he cried out, his voice filled with outrage.  
'Yep, it took you so long to realise that,' she ignored his outburst and went on typing as though nothing had happened.  
'Don't you think that you should have asked for my permission first?' he inquired furiously stepping in front of the girl. He got fed up with her not paying attention to him, or een looking at him so he snatched the laptop.  
'Hey!' Lisbeth at once sprang to her feet, trying to snatch the laptop, but the detective was so tall she couldn't reach it.  
'Very grown-up move. Taking advantage of the fact that I'm shorter than you. Do you realise that I can actually kick you?'  
'You wouldn't risk that considering I could drop your precious laptop,' he retorted.  
'I don't know why you are making a fuss about this. John used to write a blog about your adventures and your personal life for all people on the internet. It's just a dissertation; a few people will read it only.'  
Sherlock wanted to snap back at once, but the blonde had a point. She spotted his hesitation and folded her arms on her chest grimly.  
'Are you aware that there's a name for the new psychologists who are convinced that they know everything about everyone their family?'  
'Yeah. Called know-it-all. I guess, this is a trait I find appealing,' she smirked and her eyes were glistening with mischief. He raised an eyebrow taking the hint.  
'At least I'm not writing an essay about you,' he pointed out.  
'You better not. That would be infringement of privacy,' he detective wanted to reflect, but she was quicker:  
'Are you not interested in what I am writing about you? Whether you are a psychopath or sociopath?' she stepped closer eyeing him up.  
'I am a high-functioning sociopath, you don't need to tell me that,' his eyes landed on the girl's compelling lips.  
'Or maybe neither?' she whispered and stepped again a little closer. Sherlock was at a loss for words.  
'If you are good, I'll let you read that,' she teased her, in reply he rolled his eyes.  
'What qualifies good? Not being a murderer or donating to charity? Either way, I'm bad.'  
'There's nothing good or bad in this world, but thinking makes it so,' before he could protest the girl's lips locked into his. He could taste a scent of coffee and feel her hand exploring his chest. Sherlock was not used to physical contact, but he found himself enjoying it. Replying to her kiss passionately, he stroked the girl's soft skin and then ran his hand through her blonde hair which he secretly loved so much. As her body pressed closer to his electricity run through him and unknown emotions stirred in him. He wanted her to get closer; he wanted to explore her body. As he was still in the spur of the moment out of nowhere she broke off the kiss and snatched the laptop.  
'Oh, you can be so easily fooled darling. Nice kiss, by the way,' she winked at him and disappeared in her bedroom, slamming the door in the outwitted detective's face.

When Lisbeth could no longer stare at the screen of her laptop she stretched her arms and yawned. She grabbed the first book she found and walked in the living room. The detective had left before at some point so she was alone. Absent-mindedly she stood in front of the fireplace facing the skull. She came to the conclusion that it indeed one belonged to someone. Wasn't it a bit morbid having a skull that once belonged to human being on the fire place? But the fingers in the fridge reminded Lisbeth not to ask questions.  
'Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything,' she muttered under her breath eyeing the skull.  
'Ah Shakespeare, I should have known you were a fan, you have a taste for drama, moral dilemma, wondering about what is to point of lie, suffering from your own problems,' out of nowhere she was interrupted by a deep husky voice making her jump.  
'Christ Sherlock!' she yelped, throwing an annoyed look at the tall figure. He didn't take his coat off, but threw himself down on the sofa settling down in the thinking pose.  
'What's your problem with Shakespeare?!' snapped the girl a bit louder than she intended.  
'He's so… _scenical_.'  
' _Excuse-moi_ , he was the most brilliant playwright of all time. And he's classic, we are British, we have to adore him. It's like, God forbid, you said something bad about the Queen.'  
Sherlock sighed deeply and rolled his sparkling blue eyes. The girl knew that he was fed up with the conversation and he would rather be left alone in silence. However, he put his finger on a weak spot. Lisbeth angrily marched through the room and stood in front of the detective.  
'He was a genius. Even though his plays are over hundreds of years, they still carry moral and dilemma relevant even today,' she started lecturing, but stopped when the detective suddenly rose and laid hands on her book.  
'Dear God, you are reading Romeo and Juliet. Do you truly, genuinely believe that one affair can resolve a dispute between two families who have been quarrelling with each other for generations?' he spat.  
'Yeah, yes, I do,' the girl folded her arms and looked on tiptoe at the detective. Sherlock found it amusing how easily she could be irritated. She just loved arguing. 'You have no idea how it feels to fall for the enemy,' the girl didn't intend to say that out loud, it's just slipped. Indeed, Romeo and Juliet was their story. She could only hope that the ending would be different. Or at least they would die more interestingly. Sherlock sighed deeply.  
'I don't. However I'm perfectly aware how compelling forbidden love is. Normal people tend to be attracted to banned affairs, it's how they reject authority. Look at you, for example. Having an DI uncle and a strict father, who holds I'm not one hundred percent sure what position in the government, but must be very influential, maybe Mycroft is acquainted with him –the girl's heart gave such a jump that she needed all her control to mask her emotions.- Sherlock eyes narrowed slightly, therefore Lisbeth knew he has spotted her distraction, but fortunately he went on, 'It's a miracle you didn't end up being a criminal,' he finished, closed the book alongside with the conversation and laid back on the sofa.  
'Well, I kind of ended up _with_ a criminal,' noted silently the blonde one. The detective smiled slightly, but didn't respond.  
'And by the way, I was not reading Romeo and Juliet, but Hamlet.'  
'Makes more sense. You can feel for the protagonist in his sorrow of losing his parent, but you are not sulking in self-pity,' Lisbeth couldn't mutter up an answer.  
'At least, in my case it is for sure that not the uncle is the murderer,' she finally commented.  
'Indeed it is. Gordon is too dull to murder anyone.'

'Hello there!' Lisbeth smiled broadly addressing a police officer, waiting for someone to let her cross the yellow tape in front of her.  
'Hello miss, how can I help you?' a young man walked up to her, returning her smile. Lisbeth had to admit that he was handsome.  
'I would like to enter the scene, if possible,' she replied, looking as innocent as a lamb.  
'Well, I was hoping you would ask something more manageable,' he crossed his arms playfully on his chest.  
'You must be new –' she started, but was interrupted.  
'Indeed I am.'  
'I'm Lisbeth, the DI's niece.'  
'Nice to meet you, DI's niece Lisbeth, I'm Adam, the police officer,' he shook her hand, even though she did not offer it.  
'I have to admit, I have heard many excuses, mostly from eager journalists to get in, but this is a new one.'  
'I'm not a journalist,' she pointed out and was trying to look over him trying to find someone to help her out.  
'Looking for someone?' he stood in her way. 'You know what? Maybe, I can let you in for just a very few minutes if you have coffee with me later,' he batted an eye at her.  
'I don't get it. Given that you don't believe that I'm the DI's niece, you could get into serious trouble for letting a stranger in,' she gave up trying to find someone looked in wonder at the officer.  
'Well, if you are telling the truth and you are his niece, then I am right to let you in and still get a coffee, if not, then yes, there's a slight chance I get into trouble, but still there's coffee. It's a win-win,' he smiled broadly, but still couldn't break the ice.  
'You are not gonna give up, are you?' she shook her head.  
'When it's a date with a gorgeous girl, no I'm not.'  
'Listen,'  
'Lisbeth, you are late. I've already solved the case,' suddenly a tall figure appeared out of nowhere. With his long legs he could be anywhere in a few minutes, but Lisbeth was so sank into the conversation she didn't notice him coming. His blue eyes moved between the police officer and the girl when realisation hit him. He glowered at the boy coldly before grabbing Lisbeth and kissing her suddenly. This was not one of the 'Sherlock kisses' he would carefully plan. This was more rough, more possessing, out of nowhere. Lisbeth had no time to comprehend what had just happened. He broke the kiss, shot a scornful glance at the police officer and barked:  
'She's with me. Let her in before I tell the DI that you are flirting with onlookers instead of working. And especially with his niece,' he added evilly. Adam was at a loss for words at first, and then he loured and lifted the yellow tape without a comeback. The detective nodded then dashed away.  
'I'm sorry,' the girl murmured and ran after her boyfriend.  
'What was that? she demanded disapprovingly.  
'I just got you in the crime scene,' he noted while taking out his magnifying glass, not looking at the girl. Lisbeth put her hands on her hips.  
'You know what I mean Sherlock,' she snatched the glass out of the detective's hand. He couldn't stand when she decided to take things into her hand. Literally.  
'He was flirting with you,' he simply stated and tried to reclaim his equipment.  
'Oh, and that's how we should inform people we are together?'  
'I don't understand Lestrade why you are making a fuss about this. You are always going on at me about not showing any 'affection' when we are in public. Now I did. Stop throwing a tantrum and give my magnifying glass back,' his eyes filled with blue fury connected with the girl's. Lisbeth's stomach filled with butterflies hearing his words:  
'Men tend to flirt with me Sherlock, you are not the only one who likes the blonde ones,' she smiled from ear to ear, secretly being all over the moon.  
The detective got fed up, grabbed the magnifying glass and replied:  
'I don't know why you assume that. As a matter of fact, I prefer black.'  
'What?'  
'Irene had an eye-catching coal black hair.'  
Lisbeth's mouth dropped open and gasped in surprise. Her blue eyes went form wide awake to a narrow. Sherlock smirked with victory, turning back to the crime scene. Lisbeth opened her mouth to say something, but then changed her mind, turned tail and left. Sherlock didn't even notice it, just when he was eagerly making observations and no reply came.  
'Ah, she has to be so petulant all the time, hasn't she?' he murmured to himself.

When Sherlock entered the flat he couldn't find the girl anywhere. Nevertheless, he noticed that the bathroom door was locked. Sighing he flung down to the couch and yelled:  
'Don't you want to know how I solved the case?' he rolled his eyes as no reply came.  
'Fine,' he sprung up and started putting up pictures on the wall. Lately he's been working on the Moriarty case in his mind. Except there was not much to work on. His only clue was the video. He was not even convinced that his arch enemy was still alive as he had cut every tie related to him, he had destroyed his organisation completely. And yet, the mere idea that he might still be alive fascinated him. But what was he waiting for? Why hasn't he struck yet?  
'There's been a robbery; a necklace worth 10 000 pounds was stolen from an old lady. There was no sign of intrusion and judging by how the safe was opened, it was clearly a professional work. The robber's been observing her for weeks, getting to know her habits, waiting for the right moment to break in. The perfect place for this was the flat across the street, which I checked, was rented for two weeks, paid with cash therefore untraceable. I examined the flat and stumbled upon some crumbs on the floor. In a nearby dumpster I found the packing of the same cucumber sandwich. The DNA sample would have been enough to trace the robber, though I was sprung by the idea, what if he was stupid enough to stop and get a sarnie before fleeing. And as always I was right. I immediately spotted the perpetrator at the sandwich bar and he was arrested at once. Child's play,' he boasted, but his well-deserved compliment was never given. Finishing his map on the wall he stabbed the knife in the central picture in exasperation.  
'What's going on up there?' Mrs Hudson's voice came from downstairs.  
'Nothing, we're fine! I'm just decorating the wall,' wearing the devil's smile he adjusted the pictures in frenzy.  
'You are not shooting my wall again, are you?! Where's Lisbeth?' Sherlock was interrupted by the sound of steps coming up on the stairs.  
'She's in the bathroom refusing to come out,' he explained connecting the photos with wires insanely.  
'Oh for heaven's sake! The moment she stepped in the flat I knew it was only a matter of time before she got pregnant!' the old lady moaned at the door. Sherlock was so taken aback by her assumption he couldn't even reply. He needn't have to, because a nearly hysterical reply came from the bathroom:  
'I'm not pregnant Mrs Hudson! Go away!'  
'She's been living with him too long; she's losing her manners,' Mrs Hudson grunted as she left the duo.  
'You are not pregnant, are you?' Sherlock stood in front of the door sheepishly.  
'Christ Sherlock, how could that even cross your mind just for a second, when we didn't even-' she couldn't believe him.  
'I'm well aware that you are not pregnant from me,' he hissed huffily.  
'Sherlock, are you assuming that I'm cheating on you?' Lisbeth's voice trembled as she was on the edge of opening the door, but she stopped herself. She couldn't give up yet that would have ruined her plan.  
'Well, I know you are keeping something from me,' he stated, his voice plain, but Lisbeth could still hear the hurt in it.  
'Sherlock, I do flirt with men from time to time, but I'm not, and I would never cheat on you,' she declared as she found extremely cute the detective's jealousy.  
'Good,' he felt quite relieved, 'I don't mind you flirting with man as long as you are writing your essay about me.'  
Lisbeth smirked from ear to ear her heart beating rapidly. This was almost perfectly romantic.  
'Well, that's not how you reacted at the crime scene,'  
'Okay Lestrade, I'm losing my patience. I will not stand her for eternity. Come out immediately!' he demanded crossing his arms on his chest.  
'Could you give me my bag?' she requested, a smile hovering round her lips.  
'Why do you need your bag?' he inquired frowning.  
'Could you just shut up and give me my bloody bag?' Sometimes it was hard to decide which one of them was more hot-headed. Grouching, the detective searched for the requested purse. When he snatched it a piece of paper fell out of it. He quickly recognised a receipt and identified the product. He ran through the living room and started battering at the door.  
'Lisbeth Lestrade, don't you dare dye your hair!' he rested his head against the door.  
'That's exactly what my father told me 10 years ago,'  
'What are you two doing upstairs?' a third voice joined the argument.  
'We're fine! Go back to cooking' Sherlock yelled back. 'If you dye your hair, I swear I'm evincing you!' he threatened trying to think about ways to open the door. He remembered having a spare key somewhere… somewhere in a box labelled 'useless items'.  
'Still quoting my father.'  
'Lestrade, that is not amusing at all. Stop what you are doing immediately!'  
'I take every word you say seriously.'  
'Fine!' he burst out. 'I was lying! I love your hair, don't you do anything to it,' he admitted banging his head at the door. At once he could hear a click and the door opened slowly giving enough time for the detective to take a step back. A very blonde girl emerged with an exulting smile on her face. Sherlock lured as he realised that once again he was outwitted by the girl. She handed the dye to the detective, stood on her toe to give a kiss on his lips and grabbed her bag.  
'I know darling, I know. But I'm off to the grocery store,' she winked at him and left.  
'And that's why I love that blonde swot,' he smiled, murmuring to himself.


	9. Chapter 9

It is not a game anymore  
Part 2

(note: Check the previous chapter, I updated it, added a few more paragraphs to the end)

Lisbeth was walking home from the grocery store her hands full of bags of vegetables. It didn't even cross her mind to make an attempt to cook, since she didn't want a fire to start from Baker Street (once it was enough in history). But she offered Mrs Hudson to go shopping for her, the least she could do, after all the old lady was taking really good care of them. She never imagined that one day she would go shopping for anything else than not frozen food or pizza.  
'Good morning Beth, doing some shopping?' suddenly a familiar voice greeted her. She almost dropped one of the bags, but the man caught it and didn't give it back to her.  
'Ian. What a surprise. Was I more paranoiac, I would assume you are following me,' she replied looking at man questioningly. He ran his fingers through his dirty blond hair and gave her a handsome smile:  
'I could be because just can't resist your charm. Or maybe I work around the corner at Tom's.'  
'Ah, what do you do?'  
'It's just office work, with a lots of meetings, I don't want to bore you.'  
'I thought you were a soldier,' answered Lisbeth casually, but in response the man's long legs came to an abrupt halt and he looked at the girl dead serious:  
'How do you know?' As he stood in front of her, his lips in a flat line, blocking her way, she felt a bit intimidated.  
'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be indiscrete, I tend to say out loud my thoughts… my boyfriend has a bad influence on me. It's just the way you walk, the way you wear your hair, hold yourself and your scars look like military injuries. I didn't mean to offend you,' she apologised and was waiting for the blonde's response who still didn't move.  
'It's okay,' he eased up and broke the ice with a warm smile, 'it just caught me by surprise, you are very observant. Not just gorgeous but witty as well,' he continued strolling. Lisbeth quietly let out a relieved sigh.  
'How's that boyfriend of yours? I guess you are still together?'  
'Yeah, we're fine, it's working out, I'm quite happy,' a wave of guilt run across her as he realised Ian was constantly flirting with her. It was not at all someone could call a normal relationship, but in his own silly ways Sherlock showed compassion and took care of her.  
'That's a pity. Or I mean for me. If you change your mind, give me a ring. Do you still have my number, or do I need to give you it again?' He teased her.  
'I have it, don't worry.' she replied and again felt uneasy about keeping the piece of paper.  
'Good sign you didn't throw it away. But I guess, he won't get angry if you are hanging around with a handsome man,' he smiled from ear to ear. 'After all he's not here to help you with the vegetables.'  
'No, shopping is something he would never do,' she ignored the handsome part, 'actually it's something I rarely do'  
'Yeah, I never imagined you in the kitchen cooking. You are more an adventure seeker, are you not?' he examined her curiously.  
'I'm not an adventurer by choice but by faith,' she quoted.  
'Well, at least you still have both ears,' Lisbeth couldn't help but laugh out loud. She appreciated that he recognised the quote. She wouldn't say it out loud, but enjoyed being around him, the light atmosphere, the continuous flirting, exactly the things that were missing from Sherlock. She felt ashamed having fun with a man behind Sherlock's back, but somehow there was something inexplicable in him which compelled her. She identified the same thrill she felt when broking into the police database or blowing the whistle on a notorious criminals. Ian noticed the change in her attitude.  
'Don't worry. I can see that you are faithful to him. I'll stop flirting if it's inconvenient for you. I don't want to ruin this friendship.'  
'No,' she replied, biting her lip, 'It's okay. As long as it really is a friendship.'  
'Hereby I promise you that I make no intention towards you as long as you are happy with your boyfriend. Deal?' He offered a hand, putting the grocery bag on his hips.  
'Deal,' she shook hand with him smirking. Lisbeth didn't really have real friends and she wouldn't say no to one.  
'So, now you that you know what my career is, what do you do?'  
'Well, I'm still studying at the uni. But it's my last year. Human and applied psychology.'  
'Wow, I thought you were working. Psychology, are you examining me right now?'  
'Now and every time. Well in my free time I'm kinda consultant at the police.'  
'Solving crimes, huh? Are you a mystery fan?'  
'Yeah, we can say that.'  
'More and more interesting. I'd love to continue this conversation, but my lunch break is over, I have to dash. Very nice meeting you. We should get together for a coffee sometime,' he said goodbye just as they were about to head towards Baker Street.  
She pondered for a moment:  
'Okay. By Ian.'  
'Bye Beth, take care,' he handed the grocery back.

She stepped in the flat still smiling. She gave the vegetables to Mrs Hudson, had a small talk with her, then headed upstairs.  
'Hey darling! I'm home,' she greeted, but no answer came. As she took off her coat she went to the living room where he found the detective standing stock-still, gazing at the wall.  
'I am home,' she stood next to him examining the wall. Her favourite yellow smiley was covered by dozens of maps, papers, photos, red strings everywhere and in the centre off all mess was a spider named Moriarty.  
'Oh,' she gaped as realisation hit her, but the detective still ignored her. She was aware that the he set his sights on finding Moriarty, but up to this point she didn't notice him working on it.  
'Do you need any help?' no reply came. 'Sherlock, do you need assistance, tea, or something?'  
'Why would I need your help?' he snapped suddenly, mad eyes gazing at her. 'How could you possibly think that you can offer me any help? Huh? Do you think that you are cleverer than me? That you just come here and solve the case? Tada! Lisbeth Lestrade the ingenious detective who solved the case that Sherlock Holmes has been working on for weeks. Enlighten me then, how could he survive shooting himself in his bloody head? Hmmm? No idea? Tell me!' he shouted at her, however was not expecting the slap he received in reply. It left him breathless staring at the girl in awe.  
'I don't care how upset you are, you can't talk to me like that,' she stated coldly then turned tail and left the flat slamming the door.

She felt the cold air hitting her face as she aimlessly wondered the streets of London. It was good to clear her brain. It even crossed her mind to light one of Sherlock's cigarettes she was hiding in her coat. However, she remembered that she has not smoked since high school and she didn't want to break this habit. She was surprised by her actions; she didn't intend to hit Sherlock it just happened so quickly. She felt so jubilant and cared for because of Ian, but being insulted for offering help was the last straw. Normally she would just shake her head or snap an insult at him and go away to give both of them time to calm down, but this one was different. She had to talk to someone. Ian came to her mind at once, but she was not going to complain about her boyfriend to the man who was constantly trying to seduce her. She could call John, who would fully understand her then go and yell at the detective, but she needed a girl to talk to. Mary was exhausted since Rosie didn't sleep well, she didn't want to bother her, Mrs Hudson was not the person she wanted. She scrolled through her contact list until she found the name she was looking for.  
'Molly. It's Lisbeth. You told me if I need someone to talk to, well, I kinda had a fight with Sherlock.'

Lisbeth stared absent-mindedly at the cup of tea right in front of her. She took a sip and sighed deeply.  
'I know how you feel,' a young feminine voice offered her comfort. Her phone buzzed, but she just simply ignored it.  
'Do you?' she snapped and regretted her response at once.  
'Yeah, yeah I do,' Molly admitted, not being insulted, 'For years, I've been in love with him. Gosh, I was so into him. And yet, he never noticed. Never. He said terrible things to me, awful things and sometimes he didn't even recognise it! The cleverest man in the world and yet, so blind in the face of truth.'  
Lisbeth's eyes gulped as she recognised her own words. She took notice of the noise her mobile made, she got a text message. No doubt who sent it. Molly chuckled.  
'You must have felt the same many times, haven't you?' Again a message came.  
'Yep. Sometimes I wonder why do I put up with him? Why did you?'  
'That's simple. I was head over hills in love. Besides, I do think he's a great man. He is undoubtedly annoying, but I'd never regretted meeting him and becoming friends with him. I only wish I'd have recognised sooner that I had no chance of being with him. After all, I'm not blonde,' Molly chuckled and looked at the girl teasingly. Lisbeth forced a bitter smile and turned a blind eye to her cell again buzzing.  
'I don't know Molly. I really don't know. And I don't like not knowing. Ever since I heard of him I was so fascinated by him that I decided, no matter what, one day I'd find him and I would make myself important to him. Now that I have everything I start to cast doubt on whether this is what I meant to be. What we meant to be,' she bit her lips and the cup of tea seemed again quite interesting.  
'Oh Lisbeth, you've spent too much time with him, you are starting to get into his habits. Don't be so dramatic! It's not the end of the world! It's just your first row!' New text again.  
'But Molly, if you who are a billion times more patient than I am and you couldn't make it with him-  
'Stop it. Stop it right now! Lisbeth, I lacked something he needed. Something you have, something a very few possess. The only other person -besides you- I know who does, is John.'  
'And what is it? An unhealthy attraction to danger and to a certain detective?' the blonde guessed bitterly.  
'The ability to adapt. Tolerance. Courage. Perseverance. Intuition. High IQ. And most of all a little bit of insanity. These are the qualities that make you the perfect partner for him.'  
'Ah I see now, you were not insane enough,' she finally laughed heartily.  
'Believe me I was. I helped him fake his death. I was not interesting enough to him.'  
'What did you say about his death?' Lisbeth's eyes sprung up. She always have been wondering how he managed that stunt, but he wouldn't tell her.  
'Okay Lisbeth, I have one single question for you that will solve all your problems. If you answer it truthfully,' Molly quickly changed the subject.  
'Go ahead, I'm waiting for the magic trick. The one question which will turn all my problems into smoke.'  
'Do you love him?'  
The girl was taken aback by the question, although she expected it. She took her phone in her hand which received once again a text. She looked up to the ceiling.  
'Do I love most obnoxious, show-off, smartass, annoying, stock-up, selfish, childish, my God, extremely childish, highly-prone-to-infer, know-it-all, arrogant, tenacious and handsome-'  
Molly chuckled as Lisbeth put up a black.  
'Do I love the man who can be so caring, who would do anything for those he loves, who is no doubt highly capable of love in his own silly ways, who is perceiving, observant, clever, blimey, he's so intelligent, I fell in love with his brain, then his personality, his soul, not to mention his light blue eyes, his high cheekbones, curly hair and peculiar style. Yes, I do love this man and I know even if he's being the biggest asshole in this world that he loves me too.'  
'I told you. Sometimes you just have to ask the right question.'  
'Thank you Molly, you've been a great help,' she hugged the brown one.  
'And what now? Are you going back to him?'  
'Well, if I'm not mistaken, I've just received the seventh text from him which means he's quite desperate. I think he has suffered enough.'  
'Nah. Not yet. You must drink your tea first.'  
'Quite right,' Lisbeth agreed happily, but she unlocked her screen.

Lisbeth, come home I need you. SH

Lisbeth, I really need you to come home. SH

Fine, I need your help. SH

Lestrade, I won't text again. Come at once. SH

Okay, I was and idiot, will you come now? SH

You won. Lisbeth, I need your help, if you would be so kind to come home, that would be much appreciated. SH

We can work on your mother's case. SH

10 mins and I'm home. LL

And you are an idiot. LL

The detective's eyes sprung up at the very moment he heard the noise of the door opening. He imagined Lisbeth taking her coat off, putting down her bag and slipping off her shoes. The keys clinked as she threw them down. Quiet stamps coming closer. Sherlock rose and waited. The girl came in. They eyed. Lisbeth was keeping a straight face not revealing any emotions, but she folded her arms on her chest. Sherlock immediately recognised the sign of seclusion.  
'Did you have a pleasant conversation with Molly? he cleared his throat awkwardly.  
'Wondrous,' Sherlock marked the sarcasm in her voice. She didn't inquire how he deducted which clearly meant that she was still cross with him. He turned tail and started looking for her laptop.  
'What are you doing?' she pondered, annoyed.  
'I'm searching for my laptop.'  
'On the table,' he sat down and started typing as quick as lightning. 'I broke into the police database and found your mother's case. But I suppose you had broken into the archive a long time ago and you still have to copy of her files, right? he asked, not looking up.  
'Sherlock,' she took a seat in front of him as if it was an interrogation. She closed the laptop, 'I don't want to work on my mother's case.'  
'What do you mean by that?' he looked up astonished. As ice blue connected with navy sorrow met with confusion.  
'Not yet. I appreciate the gesture, and later I do want to solve it, but for now Moriarty is top priority.'  
'Then,' he gasped still confused, 'What do you want from me? An apology?'  
'No,' she stated and surprising even herself, 'just forget it and let's seek this bastard out.'  
'But,' his jaw fell, 'I thought, I thought you were going to end this relationship.'  
Lisbeth supressed a smile as she heard the despair in his voice.  
'Well, it did cross my mind in the fury. But… Living without you is not an option.'  
'I am not able to envisage living without you either.'  
She smiled at him making him feel warmer.  
'This doesn't alter the fact that I owe you an apology. I am sorry Lisbeth for lifting up my voice and disrespecting you when you were offering help.'  
She nodded as a smile hovered her lips.  
'I forgive you. It's all done. Let's solve the case,' she grabbed the detective's hand pulling him to the living room.  
'Wait.' He came to a halt. 'Did you just… lure me into a trap? You made me craving to apologise,' he crossed his arms on his chest and looked like a six year old boy throwing a tantrum.  
'Yes darling, I just did. Sometimes, I do think I would be a brilliant mother,' she put her hands on her hips in victory.  
'You are vicious,' he murmured resentfully.  
'Where I come from we say smart,' she puckered her brows.  
'Lisbeth, you are British all the way up the line. That's not what we say.'  
'You're right. We say bloody bastard,' she retorted with an accent which made both of them laugh.  
'But you wouldn't be a good mother. Not yet. You are too independent and selfish.'  
'You know, it would have been way more romantic if you said I would be.'  
'Well, I observe and tell the truth.'  
'I know you do. But anyway I can't stand children.'  
'You could stand ours,' he slipped. They both stopped and look at each other in awe. The girl was wondering if he has just admitted that he would indeed imagine his future with her… that he would want to have a child. Their child. The thoughts in Sherlock's head were completely different. He never doubted that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. But anytime he would think of children he'd decide that he never ever want one. Or maybe he did want to be a father. Who was this girl? Who was this girl you could awaken feelings in him that he never knew existed?  
'Okay, let's see the map,' the girl turned hills as her eyes were becoming watery. Sherlock grabbed her arm and turned her around facing him.  
'Lisbeth Lestrade you are fully aware that I am in love with you, are you not?' he asked, or rather stated as she gently lifted her jaw with one finger.  
'I might have noticed,' she gasped overwhelmed by his closeness. Her pupils dilated, her pulse quickened. Her eyes shifted to his lips. Sherlock smirked; he loved the effects he had on her.  
'Good. I have always thought of you as an observant one,' she blushed and bit her lips. She desperately wanted to be kissed and Sherlock knew this exactly. He leaned closer, his lips almost touching the girl's. She gasped in anticipation.  
'But you are quite right. You would make a wonderful mother. In ten years. At least,' he murmured in his low husky voice and a smile hovered his lips as she heard Lisbeth's dissatisfied grunt.  
'I fucking hate waiting,' she stated very ladylikely as she tiptoed, grabbed the detective by the collar and kissed him passionately. She ran one hand through the detective's curls the other exploring his masculine chest. Sherlock's instincts kicked in and he gave in the temptation. His hands found their places on the girl's hips than wandered downwards. As he stroked and grabbed the girl's bottom a shiver ran through her spine and a moan escaped her throat. Every touch of his made her feel alive, her skin burning, her knees trembling. Their lips were locked continuing their endless, fierce dance. As she unbuttoned the detective's shirt Sherlock hands returned to their original place and continued their journey upwards. He reached the rim of her t-shirt and with one quick move he removed the unwanted clothing. He took a step backwards and admired the view.  
'You are beautiful. Quite extraordinary,' he marvelled.  
'How many naked women have you seen in your life? I don't think you seen enough to compare,' she chuckled as she folded her arms around his neck, her waist pressing into his.  
'I have seen more than you think. But I never wanted to make love to any of them,' he looked deeply in her eye.  
'And do you want now?' she asked in a low voice, her knees trembling, her whole body tense in anticipation filled with lust, thirst for his kisses, thirst for his touch, for his body.  
'There's nothing in this world that I want more right now than you, Lisbeth Lestrade,' he stated bluntly. In the very moment the girl's heart stopped beating, then continued doing it rapidly.  
'Then, what are you waiting for?' their lips locked.

When John walked into the flat of 221B he never expected the view he found. Sherlock was lying on the sofa with Lisbeth on his chest. The detective was stroking the girl's hair and everything was quiet. John was one hundred percent sure that beneath the blanket they were naked. Naked on the sofa. On the sofa where Sherlock would always lay and go to his mind palace. He cleared his throat, his eyes wide with extreme awkwardness.  
'Oh John. Lovely to see you. How's Mary and the baby?' Lisbeth looked up and inquired casually as if they were not naked.  
'Er, fine, they are both feeling good. As I can see you two can't complain either,' he stood there miserably.  
'Lisbeth, go dress up, you are making John feel uneasy,' Sherlock commanded, defending his friend.  
'No Sherlock, we are both making him feel awkward,' the cheeky reply came.  
'I could come back later, if you two are done,' John suggested as examining the ceiling.  
'Definitely not. We had enough fun. It's time to work!' the detective stated excitedly.  
'John, you must have recognised that we are not wearing any clothes. Since we have one sheet, one of us will be naked. And I don't want know who you would rather see without clothes,' Lisbeth smiled from ear to ear.  
'Right, I'll go and ask Mrs Hudson to make us some supper,' he took his chance and as headed downwards he could hear a smack of a kiss.

When all the three were wearing clothes they finally started working on the case. For hours and hours they worked, made research, gone through more files one could imagine and drank more coffee they should have drunk. This turned out to be a three patch case. Lisbeth shot a disapproving look at the detective being afraid he might overdose himself. Although Sherlock ignored her concerns completely, John promised her that he would closely monitor him.  
'It's extremely difficult. I have to find a fault in my own work,' Sherlock murmured under his breath.  
'What do you mean be that?' John looked up from a pile chart.  
'It must be difficult, but not impossible,' Lisbeth retorted while sorting out police reports.  
'I was convinced I had eliminated all his network, connections, and businesses. And it turns out there's one more man. One last man.'  
'So he's dead then? John asked the right question.  
'Obviously!' Sherlock grunted, annoyed. 'He couldn't have survived shooting himself.'  
'I thought we would never reach this conclusion,' Lisbeth murmured, sorting out a piece of paper.  
'Shut up, Lestrade!' he barked. Lisbeth shot out her tongue, but Sherlock turned a blind eye and only spoke to John, 'I considered a twin, or a mask, or a decoy-'  
'Or, you were just refusing to accept that your favourite arch enemy, and with him all the fun, was dead,' Lisbeth threw her two cents in.  
'I was talking to John,' he snapped. The soldier chuckled.  
'Is he the one you have been chasing after in the past few months?' he inquired.  
'Yes, he is. And I am really close of catching him. He's in the city.'  
'An undercover man?' Lisbeth looked up confusedly.  
'Someone loyal to him.'  
'What if… what if the person we are looking for is also known to be dead? That would be the perfect camouflage,' Lisbeth had an eureka moment. Sherlock actually stopped for a moment and stared at her perplexed.  
'That… doesn't sound impossible at all,' the detective wondered. Lisbeth's face lit up in a proud grin.  
'Get rid of everything we have been working on! Get out! I need to go to my mind palace!' he commended pointing at the door.  
Two identical grunts came as a reply, but he just waved.  
'Okay, this is going to take a hell of a long time. I'm off to shopping,' the girl flung her bag onto her shoulders.  
'I'll go check on my family. I can come back tomorrow if you need any further help,' John took on his coat.  
'Okay, okay, just get out' they both sighed.


	10. Chapter 10

'It is not a game anymore'  
Part 3

Come home immediately. He's here.  
SH

Lisbeth gulped as he caught sight of the message and her first reaction, besides complete terror, was to theatrically drop the bags she was carrying. Thought it would have been a perfect movie scene, she remembered the new shirt she brought for Sherlock so she snatched the bags and run off to catch a cabbie. The ride felt like the longest ten minutes of her life. What on earth was _he_ doing at her apartment? Why would he come _now_ , after all this time? What had happened? Why would he go there when she was not there? Did he want to talk to Sherlock? Did he intend to threaten him? She was fidgeting so wildly that the driver asked her twice whether she was feeling well. Yes, just drive!- was the not-so-nice answer each time. She jumped off the taxi and burst through the door.  
'Hey miss! You have forgotten to pay the ride!' Yelped the confused driver jumping out of the car. Lisbeth hurried back, gave him money, she had no idea how much, but since he didn't complain it must have been enough.

As she rushed up her footsteps were echoing so loudly that no one could miss her coming.  
'Feminine as ever,' as she recognised the deep voice her blood ran cold.  
Trembling she stepped into the room. He found a handsome man in his thirties sitting in front of a man in his fifties, who could have been good-looking, but his hard features and strict expression made him frigid. They were doing nothing, but eyeing each other, Mrs. Hudson's favourite china tea cups next to them. Sherlock crossed his long legs and tilted her head slightly as, without a wink of an eyelid, he was examining the other man while drinking tea slowly. The elder one sat there clearly uncomfortably with a deprecating look on his face while investigating the flat and puckering his brows. As his eyes landed on the knife stabbed into the wall exactly into the head of Moriarty, he sighed below his breath. Clearly, he had different ideas about how a living room should be decorated.  
'Have… have you too been talking to each other?' Lisbeth blurted out sheepishly, and deep down she was hoping that the answer would be something like 'no, we only stared passive-aggressively at each other waiting for tea.'  
'First of all, good afternoon to you too, Adelaide! Second of all, don't you think that it would be appropriate to introduce us?' He corrected her as a pair of ice-cold blue eyes landed on her looking her up and down critically. Lisbeth gulped as she felt heat rising in her. She couldn't decide whether it was because of embarrassment, anger, or because her coat which was still on her. Sherlock have never seen the girl so upset, at a loss for words. He was suddenly caught by a strong desire to protect her.  
'There's no need for that,' suddenly he spoke up. William's pale blue eyes turned away from the girl and arrived at two identical, yet somehow much warmer pair, 'I knew who you were, the moment you stepped in,' Sherlock put away the cup, sprang up and clasped his hands in front of his face wild with excitement. The elder one sat back, crossed his arms and waited for the show. Frowning, Sherlock started the rambling, walking up and down in the living room.  
'Expensive suit, clearly a brilliant work of Henry Poole, I like him as well, although he is overrated. Expensive leather shoes, polished, newly purchased the new collection of Hugo Boss. Then, your glasses, Ray Ban, classic and stylish, latest model. You are a quite a snob, there's no doubt about that, and you have enough money to afford this style. Your clothes, glasses, hair, shoes, words and manner are impeccable. The way you hold your head suggest that you look down on everyone. Your micro expressions, and the fact that you have crossed your arms implies that you don't want to be here and not only do you disapprove of the flat, but you also condemn the life we lead. It is morganatic for you to sit here in a scrubby armchair with a junkie. Judging by the fact that you are not carrying a bag, you are not planning to stay long. Your briefcase, and it's evident that you have one, since you are a businessman, is probably in the limousine which is waiting for you outside. The license plate number is registered to be one of the government cars. Obviously, you work there, maybe you know my brother Mycroft as well. You come from an aristocratic family, you went to boarding school, Eton in fact, you have strict morals, and severe views of what is right and what is wrong. You are narrow-minded and you demand respect, that's why you are fidgeting why I'm deducing you, because you are not used to people speaking to you like that. Back to the main statement, I know who you are because I know the effect you have on people first hand. You intimidate them, you believe fear is the key to respect. Machiavelli, you probably read. You are as cold as ice, practical and demanding, a control-maniac. Strict, very strict, you do not tolerate mistakes. This makes you a very overbearing parent to have. Your wife has died approximately ten years ago which left you with your daughter alone. Since you always were the strict parent and you didn't know better, you didn't listen to her, you provided her a with good education, enough money to live comfortably, but not too much, in order not to prevent becoming a snob, but not emotional support she would have needed. This resulted in a moody and rebellious, but very smart teenager who was fuelled by the anger for his father, sadness of her mother's death and of course love for her silly uncle, to pursue her own path and do everything, but what her father planned her to do. And that's how she ended up chasing criminals, learning about the depth of human mind, living and being in a relationship with an ingenious, but extremely dangerous and addictive high-functioning sociopath. Furthermore the slight similarity between your features, the nose and the shape of the eyes, height and posture is giving you away. Of course, the way you speak is similar to hers as well, even though her language clearly has been affected by her studies in the US.'  
He finished his monolog, paid no attention to the man and walked up to the girl, looking deep into her eyes.  
'And, 'she cleared her throat, 'although very difficult to put up with, but one of the greatest minds and greatest people on earth,' she added and she could hear her father snorting and standing up, but it didn't matter anymore. What mattered were the pale blue eyes staring at her encouragingly, offering support.  
'Nice name by the way,' he cocked an eye at her and turned back to the elderly man, giving no time for his partner to reply.  
'William Sherlock Scott Holmes. It is a pleasure to finally meet _Lisbeth's_ father,' he emphasised the girl's name as he stepped closer to the elder man and offered his hand.  
'William Charles Lestrade,' they shook hands firmly. 'I have now obtained first-hand information and I have to admit that the rumours about you are all true. Since you seem to know so much, clearly, you are well aware the purpose of my visit.'  
'Quite right. However, I believe that your daughter will have something to say about that. Am I right, Lisbeth?'  
'As always,' she replied as she stood next to the detective feeling brave at the first time in her life.  
Her father sighed deeply.  
'You are no longer to continue this ' _relationship_ of yours' Adelaide,' he stated, not about to be dissuaded.  
'Lisbeth,' she interrupted which caught her father off guard. He put his glasses straight indignantly:  
' _Lisbeth_ , you will finish your degree and after you acquired it, you will go to Wales where you will become an intern at one of my colleague's company. You will forget about that silly dream of yours, running around in London, getting involved with crime and criminals, risking your life, and living with a drug addict. I've find a brilliant man for you, you are to marry him and finally settle down and start to lead a respectful life. You-'  
'No, father, I will not,' she declared loud and clear, her voice echoing in the flat, followed by a long silence. Tension was palpable between the three of them, an invisible line separating father and daughter.  
'Excuse me?' William finally asked really slowly, giving her daughter the last chance to retreat. Lisbeth felt the detective's hand gently joining hers.  
'You have my life figured out. But that is MY life and I want to be the one to choose how I lead it. And I want live with Sherlock, no matter what you say.'  
'Is that so?' he studied his daughter with a curious expression on his face, placidly deciding about how to solve the problem most efficiently. As a polite smile without any warmth appeared on his face, Lisbeth froze to the ground. She disobeyed her father and now he was going to reprimand her and demonstrate his superiority. Frigidity of the most severe winter could not be compared to the coolness of his voice:  
'My only daughter, 'as he started a chilly shiver ran through Lisbeth. No sentence containing 'my only daughter' held a pleasant surprise as it was an equivalent of normal people's young lady, 'why are you so convinced that it is in his intention to live with you as well?' he finally gave up ignoring the purple-shirted junkie.  
'I believe it is obvious, since we've been living together for 4 months now,' the detective pointed out, putting his hand around the blonde's waist possessively. William's jaw tightened:  
'Four months, she's been lying to you,' Lisbeth has forgotten to breathe.  
'No, clearly she has not. I immediately see if she's not telling the truth,' Sherlock replied without hesitation, however as he glanced at his partner avoiding eye contact, he started to doubt her sincerity.  
'Lisbeth, look at me, what does he mean by that?' he demanded, turning the girl towards him, his voice low and serious. Lisbeth stopped examining the floor, cast a loathing look at his father whose eyes were filled with victory.  
'I've told you that we always were to be together,' she started quietly.  
'Oh stop the sentiment!' he burst out. 'I want facts! What have you been lying about?'  
She gulped hesitantly:  
'How we met. I came to get help form you on the day when my landlord was killed. But he never was my landlord.'  
'What do you mean by that?' Sherlock frowned and was very disturbed as he genuinely had no clue what the blonde was talking about.  
'I have never lived there,' she bit her lips, trying to ignore her father, whose presence without speaking was enough to thicken the air.  
'But… you had a key and access to the flat.' the ingenious detective still couldn't put the pieces together.  
'Yeah, well I'm a talented cat burglar. I really wanted to have an interesting case for you to solve, therefore I was looking for a murder. You were close when you joked about me killing him to get in acquaintance with you. I did not, however I used his murder to meet you.'  
'You broke into the police database, did you not?' he finally was getting the picture.  
'Almost. I visited uncle every day at Scotland Yard waiting for a homicide. I sneaked in the crime scene, knocked at the doors, pretending to be a police officer asking about the incident. I'd found out that 57 was empty and the tenants went on a vacation. Getting into the flat was the easy part.'  
William Lestrade sighed deeply:  
'Breaking into the database of Scotland Yard, breaking into an apartment, pretending to be a police officer. If your uncle wasn't the DI, Adelaide, you would be in prison.'  
' _If_ I was caught. But I was not,' she had to courage to snap back as he could no longer hold anything against her.  
'Well, I was not expecting that, 'Sherlock admitted, frowning, still turning a blind eye to the other man whose lips were set in a straight line, 'I never knew you went to such extreme lengths to get to know me. I have to admit, that's a bit obsessive,'  
Lisbeth opened her mouth to say something in her defence, but she needn't have to.  
'But appealing as well. I value your skills and devotion very much,' the detective grinned at her.  
William Lestrade couldn't believe his ears.  
'But, where did you live?' Sherlock inquired casually, letting go off of the clearly mental plan the girl had carried out to meet him, and deciding to find out about every detail.  
'Dormitory, university. My father knew nothing about this.'  
'Oh, of course I knew,' the aforementioned person joined the insane conversation. 'Do you really believe that I don't have eyes everywhere? Preposterous, he finds breaching the law appealing,' he murmured to himself, making the younger two smiling broadly.  
'But why not be utterly candid with him? I deem it to tell him about Gregory.'  
'Who?' Sherlock asked the million dollar question.  
'Uncle, 'Lisbeth replied, 'I don't believe that is my place to tell.'  
'You are right, because it is mine,' out of nowhere a fourth voice joined in the conversation. Three pairs of blue eyes turned to him.  
'Mycroft, my friend, what do we owe the pleasure?' William was the first to address the newcomer.  
' _Friend_?' the younger Holmes grimaced. Even though William and Mycroft shared many similarities (to name some: obsession with being in control, arrogance, high intelligence and a ridiculous loyalty to the government, not to mention a very troublesome soft spot), he never actually made the connection.  
'Friend, colleague, associate,' his brother replied as he entered the flat and joined William's side, stepping across the invisible water divider, 'Sherlock texted me and informed me that you were with the intention of taking Lisbeth with you.'  
'Indeed, I am planning to do so. Since you let things go out of control, 'his artificial welcome lost all the warmth. 'I believed we had an agreement.'  
'We had, in fact. But I chose England over my personal feelings,' Mycroft leaned casually against his umbrella, smiling at his friend who puckered his forehead between his eyebrows.  
'Are you really convinced that he needs my daughter?'  
'Sadly to say, but yes, I am certain,' Lisbeth had a flashback to her childhood, the two tall men having serious grown-up conversation, ignoring her completely. However, she was not the only child in the room.  
'What are you two talking about?' Sherlock gave voice to his frustration.  
'So observant, yet so blind in the face of truth,' William retorted, not taking his eyes of the elder Holmes. This will be the title of my book, if I ever write one- Lisbeth thought bitterly.  
'Little brother, I need to tell you something, 'Mycroft turned to his brother. 'William and I have been working together since the very beginning. He is my partner, and he may not corroborate it at this very moment, but my old friend as well. However, we always had our weak points. Mine was my ingenious junkie brother, his was the kind, but not so bright brother who was a police officer at Scotland Yard. When you started to investigate, I needed someone to keep an eye on you. He had a perfect candidate for that post. Hence, Gregory was appointed D.I. and you had a friend.'  
'Have you two been scheming behind my back about my life?' Sherlock asked outraged, eyes blazing between the two men in front of him.  
'Yes, we have, 'his brother answered him calmly. 'Have you never wandered how Lestrade became DI? Forthright, he is not qualified for that job.'  
'But what does this have to do with Lisbeth?'  
'Well, Lisbeth was another problem,' William spoke up.  
'Thank you dad,' she murmured under her breath.  
'When Johanna was murdered I did everything in my power to avenge her death, of course, with Mycroft's help. However, we reached our limit where we couldn't go deeper. Naturally, my daughter never understood no and her solution was to run away and break into the police archive. Even before you decided to start consulting, she had done everything in her power to try to get herself killed. At last, she calmed down, and I managed to send her away and everything seemed to be settled. But then you became famous and I felt I was fighting a losing battle to keep her away from you. When you died I believed that finally I could have some rest. By the time it turned out you did not quite cease to exist, I had already allowed Adelaide to come to London. And here we are,' he extended his hands, and Lisbeth added 'in the middle of complete disaster' in her head and could wait no longer to pose the question:  
'But why now?'  
'Owning to the fact that I was on a business trip in America for the last four months and presumed that Mycroft would keep an eye on you two. What he certainly failed to do so,' he cast an indignant look at his partner, promising repercussions later.  
'As a matter of fact, I did. However, my top priority was and still is to provide help for my brother any way possible to find Moriarty. If it requires your daughter, then I will not stop her. Look at her! She's safe and sound; I've been taking really good care of her. She's about to get her PhD. Speaking of which, nice essay. Very perspicacious,' Mycroft gave her a very rare genuine smile.  
'How on earth-' Lisbeth pondered.  
'Adelaide, stop swearing!' his father barked, unable to pick at Mycroft's argument, but always able to pick at his daughter.  
'Thank you Mycroft,' she modified her sentence.  
'She's clearly not fine when she's living in a place like this, with a man like this., 'William was still not satisfied.  
'A man like what?' the elder Holmes raised an eyebrow, taking the role of overprotective big brother.  
'You are well aware what I mean by that Mycroft, I just don't intend to insult your brother.'  
'My brother, an ingenious workaholic who is addicted to danger and is always ready to push his limits and give everything up for his work? Are we talking about my brother, or your daughter?'  
'Touché,' Lisbeth clapped approvingly as a smile lingered in the corner of Mycroft's mouth.  
'Adelaide, keep quiet! I don't like how you are turning the tables around. I'm here to put an end to this nonsense for good. And that's it!'  
'But father, we are on the verge of finding Moriarty.'  
'Adelaide, you are nowhere to find Moriarty. The only reason is why I am not taking you away right now, is that you are about to finish your degree.'  
'William, I understand your concern, but-'  
'ENOUGH!' Sherlock finally burst out. 'OUT! YOU TWO, OUT! He madly pointed at the two men, tearing across the room, springing the door open.  
'How dare you talk to me like that?' William confronted him, ice cold fury burning in his eyes.  
'Leave my flat right now through the door, or I promise you are going to leave it through the window!' a low voice answered him, belonging to a devilish grin.  
Lisbeth gulped as her boyfriend has just openly threatened his father. Insanity was glowing in his eyes, and she was convinced that he meant every word he said. She needed to warn his father. Her desperate gaze met with Mycroft's who recognised he needed to take control of the situation at once.  
'William, I apologise for my brother's behaviour. Please, let me invite you for a tea during which we can discuss this whole business,' he offered as he stood between his friend and his brother.  
'If you think that he can talk to me like that and get away with it without any consequence-' he replied.  
'Then what?' Sherlock provoked him dangerously. Lisbeth stepped closer to the detective and put a hand on his chest.  
'Sherlock please, let him go,' she murmured to him, but the icy gaze he got from the detective made her take away her hand a take step back. Her stomach did a summersault as realisation hit her. Not only was he furious about Mycroft and her father, he was mad at her as well. Her heart sank.  
'Leave him, my friend, he's clearly high. Let's discuss this as grown-ups.'  
William slowly took his eyes off Sherlock:  
'Very well,' he set his glasses again. 'Though I'm not leaving my daughter with him.'  
'She's staying here,' Sherlock stated assertively.  
'I can assure you there will be no harm done on Lisbeth. They need to settle themselves. After that I'm sure Lisbeth will join us.'  
'Adelaide. Her name is Adelaide!'  
'Adelaide, of course, my friend.'  
'Adelaide, I expect you to meet me at Eleanor's in one hour. Exactly in one hour. Do you understand?'  
'Yes, father, I do understand.'  
'Goodbye,' he finally stepped out of the flat. Mycroft gave a comforting look to Lisbeth and followed his colleague. The door was quietly shut.

As silence lingered in the air, tension was becoming unbearable.  
'So, you finally met my father. I guess we won't expect him at Christmas,' Lisbeth joked weakly.  
Sherlock simply ignored her and sat into his chair. He put his arms into the praying position, his eyes empty. Lisbeth bit her lips, and was trying really hard to pull herself together. She figured that the detective didn't want to talk about anything, so she started taking the tea mugs out. As she was reaching for the cup, he suddenly spoke up:  
'You knew all along,' he whispered in a low voice.  
'I'm sorry?' she asked, being well aware what he said.  
'You knew all along!' he jumped up, making the girl drop the cup. It crushed on the floor, shattering into pieces, brown liquid spreading on the floor.  
'You knew since the very beginning. You knew before we met. And yet, you never said a word. You were leading me by the nose.'  
'Sherlock, I was not!'  
'You were lying to me. Keeping the truth from me. How could you look me in the eye day by day?'  
'What difference does it make? I told you everything about my father. You knew my uncle, and our relationship. You had every piece; you just didn't put them together.'  
This was the last straw to the detective:  
'You were fooling me the whole time. You were using me!'  
'I was not!'  
'You were using me to find your mother's killer! Getting to know me, winning my trust, being my assistant, getting closer to me, letting me tell you my secrets and all my plans, letting my guard down, letting me fall in love with you!'  
'You know that was not intentional. Or it was, and yet, I only did it because-'  
'Get out!' He shouted as loudly as he could, his voice echoing loud in the room and Lisbeth's head.  
'Sherlock!' she cried disparagingly, advancing towards the detective.  
'Get out before I hurt you,' he whispered in a deadly voice. She desperately looked into his eyes, but saw nothing, but malice. As she caught sight of her miserable reflection in mirror of ice-cold eyes, her blood ran cold. She collected what was left of her dignity, and walked out of the flat. He didn't even bother slamming the door and could clearly hear as she bounded downstairs. Tearing the door open, she dialled a number. 

The living room at Baker Street was filled with the furious and yet magnificent sound of violin. Sherlock almost missed his phone buzzing. It occurred to him that was Mycroft, or worse, Lisbeth, so he decided not to pick it up by any chance. Few minutes later curiosity got the better of him and he grudgingly unlocked the phone. He immediately froze to the ground, violin stopping in his hand, heart stopping in his chest. Crimson fury spurred his vision as he almost threw the phone out of the window. He laid his instrument down on the couch, put on his coat and started off, his mind buzzling with thousands of ideas, his heart filled with dozens of emotions, but one was stronger than the others: rage. Pure rage.  
Inside the pocket of his long, navy coat, on his phone there was a picture attached of Lisbeth getting into a car with a tall, blonde man, and the text saying:

'Kidnapping your girlfriend Sherly, what a precious thing! Oh, but it not really is a kidnapping, isn't it, when the girl is willingly getting in the car! The game is on, dear! J.M.'

'This is not a game anymore,' Sherlock thought as he was calling his brother.


	11. Chapter 11

The beginning of a new era  
Part 1

'What the devil do you mean by you knew it all along?!' Sherlock yelled on the top of his voice and luckily for the elder Holmes there was a table between them.  
'Brother dear, keep your voice down,' Mycroft responded calmly, taking a tired breath. 'There's no need to shout.'  
'And if you please, refrained from the use of profanities that would be much appreciated,' added grumpily William Lestrade.  
'Sherlock, don't worry, all of my men are working on the case. We will find her,' the D.I. reassured him.  
'With all due respect, Geoff, your men are useless, 'Sherlock snapped impatiently, 'if I am not capable of finding her, then no one is.'  
'Gregory, my brother's name is Gregory-' William corrected him.  
'Doesn't matter Bill,' Lestrade muttered with a wave of the hand.  
'Your daughter has been kidnapped by the most notorious criminal in the world and your biggest problem is how I call your brother?! Sherlock barked at the elder man, and again the table came in handy.  
'Listen here, others might tolerate your attitude-'  
'William, we should-'Mycroft started, trying to make peace.  
'And you, brother!' the flaming blue eyes turned away from the outraged figure and landed on his cooler counterpart. 'How could you have used her as a bail? How could you have risked her life? How could you have let that man speak to her? How? She is your associate's daughter for God's sake!'  
'Sherlock, don't let your personal feelings cloud your judgement-'Mycroft replied, his voice still as calm a cucumber.  
'Personal feelings? You are well aware that I am in love with her!'  
William Lestrade grunted with disapproval while his brother gasped and murmured something under his breath resembling to 'God save us'.  
'We can all agree on the fact that Lisbeth is precious to all of us. Nevertheless, she getting kidnapped was essential for finding Moran,' Mycroft explained level-headed as ever.  
'I don't care how you were planning to catch that criminal Mycroft, you should have never risked my daughter's life. My only daughter.' William shook his head in disbelief, on the same side of the table, but not the argument. 'After what happened to her mother –'  
'Oh, cut the sentiment!' Sherlock sputtered, 'You don't even know your daughter.'  
'Excuse me?!' The businessman's anger was once again directed at the raven-haired figure. 'How dare you accuse me of not knowing my own daughter? I have been with her since she was born, whereas you have only known her for less than half a year.'  
'William, your daughter did not… _oppose_ to assisting Sherlock,' Mycroft remarked and Sherlock laughed bitterly. Tension was palpable as the three men engaged in the battle of words, armed with long-kept grievances and an array of insults. Sides changed moment by moment, there seemed to be no alliances, but rather just belligerents, waiting for the opportunity to launch an attack on one another.  
' _Assisting_ , that's how you call living with him?' William retorted in disbelief.  
'She did not disagree with living with me and solving crimes with me, 'the detective joined the conversation. 'However, I would have been strongly against using her as bait, if I had known!  
'Sherlock, dear brother, are you one hundred percent certain of that?' the elder Holmes asked the million dollar question.  
'Yes, I am!' the younger replied without hesitation.  
'In that case, I am not sure that this relationship of yours has a positive influence on you.'  
'The same is true for my daughter. I cannot understand why you are encouraging it,' the not-Holmes added.  
'Shut up, both of you! You have no right to nose in our personal life!'  
'What did you just say-'  
'SHUT UP! ALL OF YOU!' out of nowhere a man shouted, making all the other speechless. They have long forgotten about the fourth participant, standing in the corner, quietly waiting for the children to finish the fireworks. William stared at his brother in awe, he would never have believed he would to raise his voice like this. Sherlock shot him a deadly glare, annoyed that he was not granted the opportunity to tell William off. Mycroft's lips twitched, having enough of little brothers.  
'Will you _please_ stop arguing? It doesn't matter whose fault this is. And you,' he turned to the two elder men, 'indeed have no right to tell who Lizzie has chosen to be with. Don't get me wrong, I am outraged that she was used as a bait, and I am not particularly fond of her being with Sherlock, running around, risking her life, but!' he took a deep breath, and as he continued his voice filled with determination, 'It is not my business. Right now, my division is, _our_ division is, to find her. And in order to do that you should stop arguing!'  
Lestrade folded his arms on his chest and eyed the three men confidently. William narrowed his eyes, wondering whether it really was his brother standing in front of him, then cleared his throat:  
''I'll continue monitoring the security footage and CCTV of the car,' he left.  
Sherlock shook his head and stated, 'I'll consult my homeless network.'  
'Quite right. 'Added Mycroft picking up his umbrella, 'I'll offer an expert help on tracing the phone number and call the private investigator who was tracing Moran.'  
The D.I. nodded victoriously as the door was shut and he was left alone.  
'You still got this Greg, 'he smiled at his reflection proudly, 'Doesn't matter what they say, it's not a coincidence you are the D.I.'

 _flashback_

'I shouldn't have let this happen,' Mycroft murmured with phone in his hand, texting, as his brother joined him in the limousine.  
'How on Earth did he lure her into this trap?' Sherlock inquired collectedly, but rage was boiling in him under the surface. He reached inside his pocket, taking out his phone, mimicking his brother.  
'He was flirting with her for the last month, always bumping into her somewhere where there were no CCTVs.'  
'I recognised that she was keeping something from me. No, she did admit that she was flirting with men from time to time, but I would have never imagined that he would-' Sherlock stopped texting as it downed on him. 'Did you know about this the whole time?'  
'Yes, little brother, I was very much aware of the fact that-'  
'You knew about this man,' accusing his brother the detective's voice hit a dead serious tone.  
'You as well had knowledge of Moriarty's one last man. You just didn't recognise it was him,' the elder launched a counter attack.  
'Why didn't you tell me?' A vein pumping in his neck, the younger demanded information. 'Who is he?'  
'It's Sebastian Moran,' the name lingered in the air for a few moments before Sherlock gasped:  
'But, he was shot by the police. He is supposed to be dead.'  
'Well, apparently he is not,' Mycroft added patiently, and he was nice enough not to point out how slow Sherlock was in putting the pieces together. After all, not every day was his brother's girlfriend kidnapped… who in addition also happened to be his oldest friend's daughter. Yes, another complication to be dealt with later.  
'Why did you let that scum near Lisbeth? Why did you let him befriend her?' The detective burst out and his brother twitched.  
'I needed to wait until he made his move. I needed to see his plan. If Moriarty had a network, or something left of it, he would lead us right to it,' he explained serenely, reading the text, he had just received, with a concern in his eyes.  
'You were using her as a bait all along?' Sherlock asked, not expecting confirmation, but rather an explanation, an apology, or something to stop him from punching or strangling his brother.  
'Well, that is not the term I would have used, but yes, all in all I was,' the elder replied casually, not even looking up from his phone.  
A vein had risen in the centre of Sherlock's forehead, quite a prominent one, and it pulsed steadily as he weighted how much he needed Mycroft to find Lisbeth. Though the elder did not bet an eye, he was very well aware of what was going on his brother's mind.  
'Stop!' Sherlock finally barked curtly, however the driver did not stop, just lowered the window and cast a glance at his boss questioningly. He waved his hand and the car came to a halt. The detective jumped out. As Mycroft peeked through the window could see his brother talking to a white young man agitatedly. By his clothes and raggedy appearance he identified him as part of Sherlock's homeless network. The younger Holmes opened his wallet and pulled out not a note, but a picture. Mycroft smiled bleakly, it would have never occurred to him that his brother kept a picture of Lisbeth in his wallet. Maybe he underrated this relationship. His brother seemed less and less suitable and more and more influenced.  
Sherlock got back at the car, unusually quiet. He stared out of the window sulkily, his eyes empty.  
'You have finally given up on venting on me?' Mycroft turned to his brother who simply ignored him.  
'Very well. I am convinced that you have noticed we are heading towards Scotland Yard. Gregory has already been notified, and the whole yard is scanning security cameras and CCTVS trying to find out where he might have taken her. As you have thoroughly examined the spot where she got in the car, and found nothing, we have no clue, just the piece of paper with the number which you found in the pocket of Lisbeth's coat. In the meantime, my agents have revealed the location of Moran's flat. I believe the police are on their way, hopefully they did not forget the warrant. Would you like to fasten their work, or are you coming with me to the precinct?' he arched an eyebrow at his younger sibling. He did not answer him, just dialled a number.  
'John, 'he said in a low voice, 'I need your help. Lisbeth's been kidnapped.'

As Sherlock stepped inside Scotland Yard he found Lestrade ordering his men around and yelling things like 'I don't care about the deadline, this is top priority!' 'Stop doing whatever you are doing and start scanning the CCTV!', 'I don't give a damn about parking tickets right now', 'Do whatever you want to do with him, I don't care if you let him free!', 'Put down the doughnut and move your lazy ass!' Sherlock has never seen him so frustrated and edgy before, nor had he seen the police working so hard. Molly came down hurrying towards him. She gave him a brief hug then held her gloved hand:  
'Give it to me Sherlock, I'll look for fingerprints,' she offered. Sherlock nodded thank you and handed her the piece of paper.  
'We believe it belongs to Sebastian Moran,' he stated.  
'I'll check it,' she left the room.  
'I'll need a map!' Sherlock shouted. Surprisingly one of the policemen ran to him and gave him one. He didn't bother with finding a desk; he just unfolded it on the floor.  
Mycroft was casually leaning towards his umbrella, looking down at his brother:  
'We have no security footage of him. He was always careful not to be recorded by any CCTV. He always met Lisbeth where there were no cameras. Now it's the same.'  
'Check the list of recently stolen cars and combine it with footage of the area! And call all taxi companies!' he barked orders at the policemen.  
'They are already doing that,' the elder informed him calmly. 'I have my best man advising them.'  
'What?' Sherlock was so taken aback that he looked up.  
'Mycroft, young Holmes, I see you have arrived,' a man arouse from the security footage room.  
'What is he doing here?'  
'As you are aware, my daughter has been kidnapped. I am here to lead the investigation of finding her.'  
'I am perfectly capable of doing that, thank you very much.'  
'Sherlock, we need all the help we can get. William is a really sharp man. Let him control the footage and we can concentrate on finding her.'  
'It's Moran's fingerprint,' Molly popped in.  
Sherlock's phone rang. He picked it up, his eyes still on William.  
'We found nothing that would tell us where they might be,' John's voice told him, 'However, his gun is gone, he must have taken it with him. The neighbours said he left an hour ago. Oh, and Sherlock, judging by what we have found… He was making a bomb.'  
'I suspected he was planning on this,' Mycroft murmured.  
'What the devil do you mean by you knew it all along?'

 _End of flashback_

'Oi boss, I've got some news for yah about your missy,' a voice with strong accent called while Sherlock was edgily smoking a cigarette. He threw it away immediately as Higgins arrived.  
'Yes?' he asked, rather demanded.  
'One of us has seen her getting in a car with a man, 5.9, blonde, neat haircut, handsome, around his thirties.'  
'Yes, I already know that. Do you have the licence plate number?'  
'Aye, LD58 BHC we know that the car has left London and it was heading west on M4.'  
Sherlock nodded and gave some money to Higgins. He returned to the yard at once.  
'The car is heading south on M4. They have left London. The plate number is LD58 BHC trace it down,' he shouted as he drew a line on the map.  
'The phone is a dead end. He must have destroyed it after he had sent you the text,' Mycroft popped his head out. 'And my private investigator was knocked out. He's in coma. Moran must have found out about him. That's a pity, he was one of the best,' he murmured to himself.  
'We found the car!' William joined the conversation. 'It's in Bristol.'  
'Bristol, why would they be in Bristol?' Sherlock wondered and at the very moment he got a message.

 _Isn't it lovely, how all of you are working together on finding this precious blonde girl? I am rather fond of her. Hurry up Sherlock, or I might keep her. Come where it all started. Needn't I say if the police gets involved, I'll blow her pretty head of.  
J.M._

The blood ran cold in Sherlock's veins. He realised that somehow Moran has hacked into the police's system and he could not get Lestrade involved. Going there without backup would be walking into an obvious trap. There was just on solution. Mycroft.  
He emerged slowly and showed the text to his brother. Mycroft face remained emotionless. He looked at his brother and nodded dutifully, knowing very well that his brother first encountered Moriarty at Bristol swimming pool.  
'Greg, you need to stop searching for Lisbeth,' Sherlock told firmly to the D.I. The elderly man was taken aback both by the command, and the fact that once in his life Sherlock actually got his name right.  
'Wha-'?' he asked stunned.  
'I know where she is. Moran is watching us. He messaged me saying not to get the police involved. He hacked into the police station, he'll know if you do something. You have to trust me.'  
'But-'  
'That's a decision that should be made by consent,' William Lestrade joined the conversation, backing his brother.  
'I have no time for this. I must leave immediately.'  
'Sherlock is right. He must take off in this very moment. We shall not get involved,' Mycroft cast a look at his college. They eyed for a second, and William nodded almost unnoticeable. They understood each other without words; Mycroft would take all precautions necessary and secure the area without the police.  
'Well, if you all excuse me, I'll go and light a cigarette,' this meant calling his special agents and asking for favours, in an alley where the security cameras wouldn't record him.  
'How do you expect me to do nothing while Lizzie is in the hands of a sniper probably with a bomb?' Lestrade blurted out.  
'All you can do Greg, is wait. I am sorry to say this, but right now, we have to let the couple figure out this quarrel. You heard him. We oughtn't to get involved. We have to play by his rules.'  
'How can you be so calm and analytical when your daughter's life is in danger?'  
'Well, someone has to stay organised in times of mortal peril. I am and always will be the rational one.'


	12. Chapter 12

'The beginning of a new era'  
Part 2

Bristol South Swimming Pool

Lisbeth woke up, with her head aching painfully, and with an unmistakable scent of chloroform in her mouth. She felt suffocating heat, and as she looked down she realised that she was wearing a black thin coat which was definitely not hers. On the top of that she was handcuffed to the wall. Blinking a few times before her eyes could scan her surroundings, she quickly realised that she was in a swimming pool which gave an explanation for the humidity and the lingering smell of chlorine. Her memories slowly came back to her. She… had a row with Sherlock and ran away with Ian. Ian… Did he drug her? Speak of the devil and it shall appear, she heard the noise of an opening door and steps coming closer.  
'Wakey wakey sweet dove,' greeted her a familiar voice. Ian kneeled next to her with a glass of water in his hand. 'Drink up. You must be thirsty. The chloroform does that.'  
'You fucking bastard. You drugged me?' Lisbeth blurted out, almost knocking the glass out of his hands.  
'Easy,' he recoiled. 'I am not going to poison you, you can drink this. You are gonna need your voice. And I guess, you want an explanation as well,' he added casually.  
Lisbeth wanted to spat another insult at him, but indeed her throat was dry. And if she wanted to somehow survive this, her best chance –as always- was talking her way out of it. She wanted to stall for time and wait for help, or figure something out.  
'I am not going to drink it before you drink,' she stated and eyed Ian confidently.  
'You don't trust me?' he asked playfully taking a sip.  
'You may excuse me for that given the circumstances,' she drank up the water easing the burning feeling, but she wouldn't take her eyes of him. Now that her throat was no longer aching she realised another unpleasant feeling. She was feeling extremely hot. With one quick motion she unzipped the coat with her free hand. At once stifling heat was replaced by utter coldness as her blood ran cold, her heart missed a beat and panic paralyzed her whole body. She wanted to scream for help, but no sound came. She lost all her level-headedness and couldn't think straight. A bomb was attached to her. Her chances of survival just dropped abruptly.  
'Oh, sorry about that,' Ian apologised sincerely, looking down at her with a concern in his blue eyes. 'Actually, sorry about all this. You are smart, funny, beautiful, I am really sorry that I have to kill you.' With a faint note of regret in his voice he stood up.  
Lisbeth was gasping for breath. That was definitely not the way she wanted to go. Being scattered into millions of pieces, it was the worst death she could imagine. Even though she was constantly in danger with Sherlock… _Sherlock_. His name came as an icy shower, and made her calm down a little. She took a deep breath and tried stopping the shaking. _'He's gonna save me'_ \- she thought.  
'Do you think you can get away with this? I mean, you can blow me up, but you cannot escape. My boyfriend is Sherlock Holmes. My father is half of the British government. Mycroft is the other half. My uncle is the DI-' listing all the people who she knew cared about her and were definitely looking for her with their all forces made her regain pride and pull herself together.  
'And yet, you are here with me: alone, handcuffed to the wall and with a bomb on your chest. You are not as well protected as you thought you were, are you?' he smiled at her devilishly.  
Lisbeth swallowed an array of insults, and replied with endless calm, daring to look him in the eye: 'They are going to kill you.'  
'Ah, I don't care whether I survive this or not. The only thing I care about is revenge. I want to see Sherlock suffer. I want to see his whole world fall into pieces. I want to see his soul destroyed. His heart BURNT!' Lisbeth could no longer see the flirting and easy-going Ian she used to know. In front of her was a raging man desperate to avenge.  
'I will burn the heart out of you,' the girl murmured. Ian lifted his head sharply:  
'What did you say?' he knelt down next to her. Their eyes connected, navy with navy.  
'Of course!' realisation hit Lisbeth in the head. 'How stupid I am… and have been. You are a military man. You kidnapped, drugged and brought me here. I just realised… This must be _the_ swimming pool. _The pool_ , where Sherlock first met him… you must have been here too. You are the last man. You are Moriarty's sniper,' Lisbeth was gasping for air as she connected the dots. All this time… The solution was literally in front of her, death flirting with her, buying her coffee, luring her into a trap. Christ, her life really was fucked up. But if she figured it out, it meant that Sherlock would realise it too. Well, after all she solved the case! She, the blonde girl, solved the case on which the ingenious Sherlock Holmes was working. Well, on balance, it was not worth it.  
'Yes,' Ian rose, his face glowing with pride. 'I am Sebastian Moran. Moriarty's last man and sniper. And I am going to kill you, Lisbeth Lestrade, while your boyfriend and his sidekick watch it, so he will feel the pain I felt. So that he will know the empty feeling. He will know how it feels when something is killing you inside.'  
'Well, you know, Moriarty had a chance. He shouldn't have had to shot himself. He chose to do it,' Lisbeth taunted him and at the very moment she regretted her decision. He leaped and in a heartbeat his fingers closed on the girl's throat. With her one free hand she desperately tried to loosen the grip, but he was way stronger than her. Fury was burning in those eyes as the girl's eyes started to water. ' _Go ahead'_ -Lisbeth thought. Still better than being blown up. But just as he could read her thoughts, he suddenly released her. She started coughing, struggling for breath as her loud gasping echoed though the swimming pool.  
'So,' Moran begin as if nothing has happened, 'you must be wandering how I managed to kidnap you. It was easier than I thought, really. Of course, I found out I was tailed by Mycroft's P.I. He was waiting for me to reveal myself and my big plan. Stalemate. I had no big plan; really, I just wanted Sherlock to suffer. I originally was intending to abduct John, but then you came along. I would never have imagined that Sherlock could fall in love, but stranger things have happened,' He was walking up and down next to the pool, surveying the water absent-mindedly.  
'Tell me about it,' she murmured under her breath. 'Why didn't you just kidnap me when we first met?  
'Oh no, that would have been too soon,' He turned around, strolling back to Lisbeth, 'I wanted to wait until you two fall in love. Until he was so head to tails in love that he could be easily distracted. And my time has come. You had a row, and you came to me by yourself, walking directly into the trap. I immediately knocked out the P.I. and hacked the CCTVs around Baker Street. Even Mycroft and Lestrade were preoccupied with resolving your conflict. And there you were. Vulnerable. Alone. Looking for a shoulder to cry on,' he grinned lavishly.  
Rage was boiling in Lisbeth. She couldn't believe how stupid she was. One moment of weakness might cost her life. She bit her lips stopping the insult she wanted to throw at him.  
'I am sure in a few minutes the police is going to show up.'  
'No, no police. I texted your boyfriend. One siren and bomb goes off. It will be just you, me, your boyfriend and his sidekick. Sweet four,' he showed the number with his fingers.  
'Why John, though? Didn't you just say I was a better target?'  
'You are. But still, kill two birds with one stone,' he extended his arms indicating the how obvious his decision was.  
'You were the one who hacked all the TVs and put Moriarty on screen.'  
'I was, yes.'  
'He really is dead.' It was self-explanatory from the beginning, but Lisbeth wanted to get a rise out of him. Losing his temper meant he was more likely to make a mistake. However, she could only notice a titch at the corner of his mouth and his expression clouding over.  
'And what's your plan?' she continued. 'They arrive here, you blow me up. Why do you need to blow me up, anyway? Wouldn't it be easier just to shoot me in the head and watch Sherlock's face?'  
'Oh, it's for old time's sakes,' the smirk returned to his stubbly face. 'Jim absolutely loved blowing people up. The last time we were here John was wearing the coat and the bomb.'  
'But, you might not survive the explosion…' she pointed out casually.  
'I'll have enough time to run away,' he replied in the same tone. _'Good'_ -Lisbeth thought. _'It means we will have time. Maybe an explosives man can defuse the bomb.'_  
'If you think you have the faintest chance of running away or staying alive, you are very much mistaken,' a husky deep voice introduced himself with ice cold conviction. Lisbeth could feel her heart racing, and yet her stomach dropped a summersault. Sherlock Holmes walked in with his sidekick, John Watson, on his side. Lisbeth knew very well the look on her boyfriend's high-cheek boned face. Although it seemed emotionless, inside there was fire raging. Someone was going to die tonight. Hopefully Moran. As Sherlock's eyes fell on the girl they softened for a moment, but just for one, because he had to stay focused. He immediately noticed the fingerprints on the girl's neck. His vision became blurred with fury. Lisbeth was no stupid. She knew that the situation was desperate. And yet, one look was enough to make her convinced that they were going to survive. John gave a small reassuring smile to her, and invisibly patted his pocket which meant a gun.  
'And so it begins,' Moran extended his arms theatrically, 'Welcome boys, welcome. Long time, no see.'  
'Oh cut the sentiment Moran,' as Sherlock interrupted him his mouth twitched. 'We know who you are, and we know that you want revenge for your boyfriend's death.'  
'Not so fast Sherlock, not so fast. I am in control. You don't get to talk. You must have noticed the bomb on your girlfriend. It only takes on button and BUMMMM. It goes off.'  
Lisbeth smiled sourly as Moran was randomly emphasising words like Moriarty used to.  
'Okay,' Sherlock raised his hands in surrender, 'What do you want us to do?'  
'First, your sidekick gives me his gun,' John glanced at Sherlock questioningly. Moran stood there smiling viciously and a the remote control glinted in the dim light.  
'Just veeeery slowly place your gun on the floor and kick it to me. And don't forget, no sudden movements, or my hand might slip and blow blondie up.'  
John's jaw clenched; he felt shooting the asshole in the head rather than giving him his gun.  
'Hand over the gun, John,' Sherlock stated, his voice and eyes ice cold. As Lisbeth was sitting helplessly on the cold floor next to his ex-bestfriend, who turned out to be the most wanted criminal, a metre away from her ex-criminal boyfriend, not to mention his ex-army doctor sidekick, she considered whether they chose a stand against Moran. Well, three against one: the odd were in their favour. If she could catch the gun and shoot Moran before he reacted, maybe she could end this madness. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't think straight. She wanted this to end right now. She wanted to stop it.  
As John bent down she was ready to launch.  
'Lisbeth, don't,' a deep voice interrupted her at the very moment John tossed the gun. Lisbeth had a second to decide whether she wanted to follow her plan, or to follow Sherlock's orders. The gun was quickly picked up by steady hands. A relieved sight escaped Sherlock's mouth and a laugh Moran's.  
'Ts, ts, ts,' he kneeled down to the girl. 'Listen to your boyfriend darling, or you might die sooner than intended,' a loud crack echoed through the pool as he snapped the girl. John reacted quickly, grabbed the detective firmly, and was able to stop him from throwing himself at the sniper.  
'Oh boys, this is getting out of hand,' he shook his head disapprovingly, pointing the gun at the centre of the detective chest. It took all John's strength to restrain Sherlock, whose eyes were empty, filled with animalistic range.  
'Sherlock, stop it!' the doctor yelled, clutching the long navy coat.  
'Sherlock, please,' the girl whispered, a red imprint of Moran's hand on her porcelain skin.  
The detective eyes fell on the girl and his vision cleared. For a second they found comfort in each other's eyes, but then they were brought back to reality.  
'I am going to tell you what is going to happen,' Moran began to speak calmly, taking steps back, 'you, Sherlock, will have to decide who you are going to save. You can choose Lisbeth, and I'll shoot John. Or, you can save your doctor in which case he is free to go, but your girlfriend will be shot. Or, you can choose the third option; I'll leave you all here with the bomb.'  
'So you are not going to detonate the bomb just in the third case?' Lisbeth blurted out.  
'No, sweetheart, unfortunately not, because I don't actually want to die. I'd prefer if he chose either the first, or the second option, because I would really like to see the result, but I am fair, loyal to the grave to Jim, so it's your choice Sherly,' he chuckled, clearly out of his mind.  
Sherlock eyed him coldly, without emotions in his face, thousands of scenarios flashing in his mind how he was going to kill him really slowly, and really painfully.  
'Sherlock, there's nothing to decide. I'll die, you two survive. John just had a baby, think about his family,' Lisbeth explained quickly, trying really hard to keep a straight face and sound brave.  
'No Lisbeth, stop. You are not going to sacrifice yourself for us. How do you think Mary would look at me?' John almost yelled at her, pointing a finger at her furiously.  
'Oh what a show, absolutely lovely!' Moran clapped, having a whale of time.  
'John, I-'  
'No, Lisbeth –'  
'HAHAHHA!'  
'SHUT UP,' an intimidating command silenced everyone. They all gasped and looked at the owner of the voice. Lisbeth was desperate: she couldn't think straight, and her heart was pacing with an abnormal beat. John gasped: he was trembling, his palms were sweating, his jaw clenched. Moran crossed his hands on his chest with the guns in both hands, and was smiling from ear to ear.  
'You won Moran. I'll go along with your game. I choose option three,' Sherlock stated with ice cold conviction.  
Between the protest of the girl and John Moran's face fell.  
'Okay. Then have fun. Jim sends his love,' he pushed a button which made the alarm start counting down, dropped the remote control, turned hills and rushed out of the room.  
The boys reacted in a heartbeat. Sherlock launched forward, tore the coat of the girl and started examining the bomb. John went for the remote.  
'Useless, it cannot turn the bomb off,' Sherlock informed him, his hands quickly examining the bomb.  
John changed his plan and was about to start off.  
'Don't. The police will catch him. He doesn't have the keys anyway,' he said taking out from his pockets something that resembled a hair pin, and started folding it. Lisbeth couldn't help but start crying.  
'Leave me, you idiots! Run, you can survive this,' she yelled between two cries. The countdown was at 5 minutes.  
'Lisbeth,' Sherlock stopped and cupped the girl's face, forcing her to look him in the eye. 'We are not going to leave you here. So you can pull yourself together and help us, or you can continue crying, I don't mind, because I am going to save all of us, just for future reference, you might not want to tell this story with you crying hysterically while I save the day.'  
'What can I help?' She asked as her jaw fell, and she collected herself.  
'Nothing, stay still and stop crying. It makes me uncomfortable,' he murmured while trying to open the handcuffs with the pin.  
'Considering everything, me crying is what makes you upset. Nice,' she wiped off her tears, and fell in love with him again.  
'Way better. John!'  
'Yes?' he jumped dutifully.  
'You need to remove the bomb.'  
'How?'  
'Just cut the straps. Very carefully. If you cut the wire, we die. You'll need steady hands.'  
'It's lucky that I am a doctor,' he added, taking out a knife of his jacket, and started liberating the girl from the band.  
'Yeah, it comes in handy.'  
'Lisbeth, shut up,' she laughed bitterly.  
'Done,' announced the detective in synchrony with the cuff twinkling on the ground. Lisbeth subdued the desire to kiss him.  
'John, I don't mean to hurry you, but in two minutes we will be dead,' the detective commented, his voice steady, but Lisbeth a long ago learnt to read him from his eyes. This time he didn't have a plan B. There was no stopping the bomb. If it goes off, they die. She didn't want to think about how strong the bomb was.  
'Done!' yelled John in ecstasy. Sherlock at once snatched the bomb, threw it in the pool, grabbed the girl's hand and looked deeply in her eye. We have to run for it, understood Lisbeth without words. Sherlock hitched her up, and all three of them started off to the door. They didn't know how much time they were left; they had no idea how strong the explosion would be, they had no clue whether they would see their family the next day. The only thing they were sure that they had to run. Sherlock let go of Lisbeth's hand, so they could flee quicker. Every second, every step counted. The more the distance was between them, the more safe they were, the higher their chances of survival became. The ones who had a near-death experience usually reported that everything seemed to merge together, that they would only remember a feeling, or a sound, or a fragment. To Lisbeth it was like a film scene. In one moment everything went quiet and slowed down. She could hear John's tired gasping, feel her heart beating rapidly, and navy met with ice as a shiver ran through her spine as she felt that it was the very moment. He might even remember Sherlock gaping Blonde girl when it happened. The bomb exploded. Although one would expect it to be rather loud, but Lisbeth remembered no sound, just an endless force sweeping her off her feet, and everything went black.

'Lisbeth,' faintly she sensed someone calling her name. As her vision slowly cleared, a stabbing instant of anguish reminded her that she was still alive. The very moment she could feel something violently pressing her chest, making it really hard to breathe. Just if that someone could read her thoughts the rubble and the pressure were removed. She started coughing widely, and an excruciating pain spread through her wrist. She was sure she broke it.  
'You are okay, 'John stated with a great relief in his voice, reassuring both himself and the girl. Lisbeth noticed that he was putting pressure only one of his legs, something must have happened to it. Blood was ticking from his ear, but otherwise he seemed okay. Well, as okay as someone after a bomb could be. Then a realisation hit her.  
'Where's Sherlock?' she yelled desperately.


	13. Chapter 13

'The beginning of a new era'  
Part 3

'No, no, no, this can't be happening,' Lisbeth murmured on the verge of hysteria as her fingers dug deep into the rubble trying to remove it as soon as possible, desperately hoping that the damage was not serious. She gulped, but could not catch any air as she caught sight of the black curls covered in deep dust. Horror spread over her, ice filling her veins as the dirty grey mixed with vivid crimson. Blood was oozing from Sherlock's head and he laid on the ground, giving no sign of being conscious or even alive.  
'Sherlock!' Lisbeth yelled in sheer panic, her vision blurring with tears. Fortunately, John took control of the situation, gently but firmly pushing the girl out of his way.  
'Lisbeth, don't move him,' he commanded in a low voice, switching to doctor mode. He quickly freed the detective's pale wrists and checked his pulse. A doleful wail escaped the girl's throat.  
'It's okay,' John reassured her and himself, opening the patient's eyes, 'He's alive. His pulse is very slow, but he's alive.'  
'What's happening John? Is he going to be okay?' The blonde cried in dismal.  
'He's unresponsible. He shows the symptoms of coma,'  
'Coma?! How serious is it?'  
'I can't tell. But he needs immediate medical assistance. Where's your phone? Call an ambulance!'  
'I-I don't have it. Ian, Moran took it away.'  
'Yes, of course. Here is mine.'  
However, as he pulled out his phone, it fell into pieces. Lisbeth burst into tears, but managed to pull herself together.  
'I'll run for help. Stay with him, 'as she rose to her feet, pain immediately gripped her by the lungs and she fell to her knees. Now that she needed to move she realised that her injuries might have been more serious than she first thought.  
'Lisbeth, you shouldn't –' John started, but couldn't finish his sentence as they were interrupted by the shouts of police. A relieved sigh escaped simultaneously the girl and the doctor. Time seemed to stop for Lisbeth as all of her senses failed her except her eyes which were rigidly fixed on the unconscious body of the detective. Terror spread through her whole body as on his dust-covered skin deep red blood was glistening in the midst of raven black curls. The grey eyes remained hidden under his closed eyelids and his all-knowing face revealed no emotion. Lisbeth's heart was pounding violently, pain was pulsing in her wrist and in the back of her head, but she was unaware of all of them. A strange feeling took over her as if she was watching a movie: a short, limping dirty blonde man talking to the ambulance men carefully lifting someone in a navy blue trench coat to a stretcher. The horror movie was interrupted by a blinding light and a gentle hand on her shoulder. Lisbeth came to her senses and tried to spring to her feet, but was stopped by the same hand.  
'Take it easy,' a deep voice commanded her. As the girl's vision cleared a friendly face silhouetted in front of her.  
'Let me go!' she demanded forcefully, again attempting to stand up, and once again being stopped.  
'Darling, I am sure that you have a broken wrist and might even a concussion so you will not be running anywhere,' he casually added while examining the body part under discussion. As he touched it Lisbeth cast a glance at her saying 'told you so'.  
'I'll kick you if you don't let me go with Sherlock,' she grunted, being irritated with the calm and relaxed manner of the doctor. Why was he wasting both of their time? He should be, everyone should be, taking care of Sherlock with all their strengths. The ambulance man replied with a deep sigh mixed with a lop-sided smile of amusement:  
'Okay, I'll help you up, put you in the ambulance and take you to the hospital, just take it easy, okay?'  
The flashing blue eyes made it clear that it was everything, but not okay. He surpassed a smile as he lifted the girl gently up and tried to remember whether he has ever met a patient so pissed off at the ambulance.

It had been a week since the accident. Moran was captured, arrested, questioned with more or less legal techniques and was displaced into small and dark cell somewhere unknown for the public. Lisbeth might or might not was given the opportunity to kick him in the guts. Twice. Everything left of Moriarty's network, which mainly included Moran and dozen criminals and businessmen, was wiped out. London was freed from the last remains of the most notorious criminal it has ever seen. The news and the papers were teeming with the story of Moran and the John's blog reached the peak of its publicity. Every day it was overflowed by new comments all waiting for an update, wanting to know every detail and craving to hear from Sherlock.

It was the seventh day since Sherlock was in coma. The first day Lisbeth refused to leave his side a kicked, hit, even bit everyone attempting to remove her. It took John to calm her down and convince her that she needed a cast on her wrist. She reluctantly agreed to it, but by that time she acquired quite fame and no one wanted to come near her. Fortunately a young doctor volunteered when he heard that a screaming blonde with a broken wrist and a terrible attitude needed a cast.  
'You've gotta be kidding me, 'she rolled her eyes as she recognised the familiar smile.  
'Well, I have to say that you are more infamous in this hospital than Sherlock Holmes. And that's something,' the young doctor congratulated her while preparing the plaster.  
As he looked up he heard a deep breath and could see the girl's lips tremble.  
'Don't worry, he is going to be okay. He's strong. And an asshole. They never die, 'he smiled at her, but her empty eyes were glaring out of the window.  
'Come on, 'his hand stopped working. 'What's your deal? I have to confess, I follow John's blog and you seemed more talkative and maybe a little less aggressive.'  
'What's my deal?' Lisbeth blurted out hysterically. 'You mean besides the fat chance that my boyfriend might die because of my stupidity?' She could no longer held herself together and burst out in tears accompanied by loud hiccups. She was crying like never before, choking in guilt, in anger for powerlessness, in dread for the future. _Not his brain_ \- she thought. Anything, but that extraordinary mind of his. For a few broken bones she could forgive herself. But for having been taken away what was the most precious to him, she couldn't live with that burden. Her vision became blurred with tears and she lost track of her surroundings.  
'Hey, 'a familiar hand was placed on her shoulder,' it's not your fault. If you want to blame someone, blame that bastard. Knowing who you are guys, I am sure that he got what he deserved and more.'  
A faint smile twitched at her mouth.  
'Here, 'he handed her a cup of coffee, the delicious smell promised a cure for her headache.  
'Why are you so nice to me?' she looked up at him, her tear brimmed eyes glistening with suspicion.  
'I like your stories. And you remind me of my sister.'  
'Let me guess. Is she a teenager?'  
'Yeah, a very snappy one.'  
Lisbeth took a sip from the coffee and its warmth seemed to calm her down.  
'Last time I trusted someone funny and handsome he turned out to be the most wanted criminal in London and almost killed us, 'she added, examining the doctor's steady hands working.  
'Well, I am not a criminal, the whole hospital can attest to it… Could, it they were not afraid of you.'  
As he managed to win a chuckle a victorious smile spread on his face.  
'Still don't understand why you are talking to me and helping me.'  
'You have made quite an impression on me. I have never met anyone so pissed off at an ambulance man. Especially when in need of treatment.'  
'I guess that's a first.'  
Uh-huh he muttered as he continued his work. The blonde remained silent, deep in thinking and finally added:  
'Okay, but you have to promise me that you won't hit on me.'  
'Darling, 'his brown, mischievous eyes met the blonde's curious ones, 'Firstly, I think you have demonstrated your commitment to your partner clearly. Secondly, I have a boyfriend.'  
'Oh, then promise me you won't hit on Sherlock.'  
'I would rather promise to spend my coffee break with you and bring you coffee every day.'  
'Deal,' and then, they were friends with Brad.

The second day she was once again back to yelling and frightening the nurses alongside with the doctors. It took Mycroft to convince her that it was the best hospital and Sherlock was given the best medical assistance. The third day she was so exhausted that she collapsed in front of the coffee machine and Molly needed to threaten her with a having to see shrink knowing how she hated them (yes, she was studying psychology.) or giving her sleeping pills. So she was deprived of caffeine and had no chance but to get some sleep. The fourth day Mrs Hudson refused to leave her alone until she finally ate more than a sarnie per day. The fifth day she broke into the police database in order to make sure everyone from Moriarty's network was jailed. Her uncle finally realised that he needed to change his password and paid an extra visit (as he was at the hospital everyday) to reclaim his card. The sixth day Lisbeth tried to hire an assassin to kill Moran which resulted in a rather unpleasant phone call from her father and an arrest as she actually managed to find a real one. The seventh day she cried, wept and sobbed until Mary came around with Rosie, put her in Lisbeth's arms and left without a word. She was so shocked, two curious eyes staring at her, small, chubby fingers clutching her arms, the small creature babbling cheerfully at her that her tears stopped. The end of the week left her so exhausted that she fell into sleep within seconds.

"Listen here you little shit, because I'm not going to repeat it. I mean every word of it. So ... I was told not to look at you. I was warned against talking to you. I was commanded not to know you. And I was forbidden to fall in love with you. Whereas I always was to try them all. Of course I did them all. And you know what? I don't regret a single one of them. And if you think that I'm not extremely cross with you then you're the biggest idiot in the world. You're anyway... We had an agreement, Sherlock. You promised me... You promised me that you would never leave me alone. In exchange I swore that if you were gone, I would follow you. But for God's sake, I don't want to kill myself! Nor I want you to be dead. But I'm stubborn and nearly as mental as you, so I'll do it. And you better stop me, because I'm totally gonna do it... You bastard... If you ever loved me, or how you call it... Just surprise me. Please, just don't do this to me."

Sighing deeply, Lisbeth threw away the phone which landed with a quiet thump. One second and it was broken. So she will be. Broken and bloody. And it's gonna hurt a lot. But it won't be as painful as a life without Sherlock. She realised that she's been already broken. And empty. As she closed her eyes tears brimmed them. She wasn't crying for herself nor Sherlock. She was crying for her uncle, for John, Mary, Rose, Molly and Mrs Hudson. Even for Brad a little. The ones she'll leave behind. But she had to do something, she couldn't bear being powerless. She determinedly stepped closer to the edge as she wanted to do it in that second. Because if she hesitated, she would chicken out. Cloaked, she was hoping that someone would stop her. _He_ would stop her. But nobody came. It meant that he was dead indeed. Or that he didn't love her. Either way she didn't want to live. One step and she was flying.

She was extremely thrilled. It felt like she'd been carrying chains during her whole life and in that very moment was she really just free. Emotions stirred in her: disillusionment because he didn't come. Anger, because he left her alone. Sadness for those whom she left alone. Funk, because she had to land sooner or later. But in that very moment she was intoxicated. It was pure liberation. Suddenly, strong arms clutched her and brought her back to reality. Her eyes slowly focused, but it took a few seconds before she realised what had just happened. She was still on the spur of the moment.

 _He_ was standing in front of her. The tall, skinny, pale figure with high-cheekbones, coal black curls and unique ice blue eyes. However there was anger in them. Anger? It was beyond fury.  
"Are you totally mental?" he shouted emphasising every word, shaking her forcefully. Lisbeth's knees knocked, partly because of the shaking and of the electricity which ran through her hearing his deep voice. Sherlock let go off her when he saw she was herself again. He opened his mouth to say something. However, he never managed because Lisbeth slapped him. Twice. Blue eyes met blue for a second, and then she hit him again. He got fed up and pinned her arms beside her.  
"You know, you'd deserve some too," he stated.  
"Yeah, but you're a gentleman and you would never hit a lady. Just make her believe that you're dead!" she replied cheekily.  
"You know I had a plan!"  
"I don't care! We agreed! Have you any idea how it felt?"  
"As the matter of speaking, I have. What if I didn't catch you? Lisbeth, you would be dead for heaven's sake!"  
"I don't care!"  
"Don't behave like a child!"  
"Don't tell me what to do!"  
They stopped for a second because they nearly didn't have voice as a result of shouting.  
"I'd to reorganise everything because of you," he remarked finally.  
"I had to kill myself because of you. I think I won."  
"You're the most annoying girl I've ever met, you know."  
"Same here. But as I'm aware you're a man."  
They couldn't resist any longer. As Sherlock stroke the girl's cheek she gave in. Lisbeth set her arms free, clutching the collar of the long blue coat she kissed the detective passionately. Sherlock folded his arms around the girl and their lips started to dance.

Lisbeth was woken up by sharp beeping. She immediately sprang to her feet, her balance took a few seconds to adjust to her, but she was not bothered. She ran her heart racing to Sherlock's bed and bent over him. Her stomach did a somersault as Sherlock's face seemed to twitch. Her heart dropped as she thought she just imagined it and was just about to sink back to the chair and depression when his eyelids slowly opened. As pale blue connected with navy Lisbeth felt as if a thousand years have gone by and she was woken up from a dreadful dream. Well, she was and so was Sherlock.  
'Ohmygodyouareokaythankgod,' she muttered in one breath and a weak smile lit the detective's face.  
'It's good to see you alive as well. Did you miss me?'  
'I can't believe after everything that happened you choose to quote him,' her glistening tears dropped on the blue blanket taking the ailing pain along with them. Sherlock raised his hand and cupped the girl's porcelain white cheek. Gently burying her face in his hand she felt alive at last.  
'Well, you could have greeted me with something more catchy,' he joked in a tired voice.  
'Hmm, your girlfriend sent you flowers, 'she nodded towards the deep red roses.  
A flash of smile appeared on the detective's face.  
'I thought you tore them and burnt them.'  
'No, I sent her a thank you note. I might or might not have signed it as Mrs Holmes.'  
'She will be thrilled.'  
A deep and a higher pitched chuckle filled the room with the promise of tomorrow. They looked and each other in comfortable silence. Lisbeth gazing at Sherlock, drunk by the smallest movement, the most unnoticeable twitch of his exhausted handsome face. The detective secretly admiring the girl, taking in hungrily every detail of her, tears glistening on the white silk. Their infinity was interrupted by someone clearing his throat.  
'Love birds, I hate to interrupt, but I think the good news should be shared with the doctors as well.'  
'Who is this over-cheerful idiot?' Sherlock inquired, not taking his eyes of the girl.  
'Brad. He's my friend,' she replied, maintaining eye contact.  
'Dear God. Someone call the police.'


	14. Chapter 14

'The beginning of a new era'

Part 4

As Brad predicted Sherlock made a full and a quick recovery, although it may have been safer if he hadn't left the hospital as soon as he could stand up. But with daily visits from his best friend, who happened to be a doctor, under the watchful eyes of Mycroft, the devoted attention and occasional scolding of the girl, accompanied by Mrs Hudson's cooking he was in the best of care. He started working as soon as he arrived at the flat and snatched a laptop out of Lisbeth's hand who in exchange gave him the silent treatment, but Sherlock was not bothered as he had a lot of catching up to do. For the following week he was absorbed by his laptop, his hands in praying position, his head bent in concentration with his dark brows in a frown. The blonde could not help but smile adoringly at him as he was back at his natural habitat and everything seemed fine at last.  
'Can I help you with your case?' she inquired, her lean body lying on the sofa, chin resting on the arm of the furniture, mischief glittering in the deep ocean of her eyes.  
Sherlock shook his head almost unnoticeably, not taking his eyes of the screen. Accompanied by a frustrated sigh, the detective could feel that he was still the target of the girl's curious gaze.  
'Lisbeth, you are exceptionally lovely and I must admit tempting, but I want to solve this case. Not to mention that we can expect Brad's visit in about 8 minutes.  
'And how do you know that?' she asked and the faint grin in the corner of the detective's mouth revealed that he knew that the girl did everything to have his attention.  
'It's been three days since his last check-on me. Not to mention that new shop has just opened on the corner of the opposite street, judging by his taste in shirts he would be interested. It's Wednesday, so his shift ended ten minutes ago, the hospital is twenty minutes away, I am sure he immediately took off as he is planning to look us up, then take you to the new shop, and most definitely pay the necessary visit to your favourite café.'  
'And what if something or someone held him up?' she proceeded annoying the raven-haired man.  
Without any further remarks he put down away the laptop and leaned forward for a kiss that made the girl blush.  
'Hush now, I need to concentrate. Go with Brad, buy something, overdose yourself on coffee and maybe we can have some fun provided that I can finish this,' he was deep again in the laptop, the light shining on his cheekbones, mirrored in his almost colourless eyes.  
'You know, this sounds as if I was a rich man's bored wife. Or your mistress.'  
'No darling, you are neither of them. Yet,' he winked at her with a lopsided grin and her cheeky reply was interrupted by Brad's hullo.

Two days later Sherlock kept his promise and took Lisbeth to Angelo's ensuring her that yes, this time it was a date and there would be candles, wine and Angelo would make his surprise dish just for them. And yes, he would wear the purple shirt. As Lisbeth stepped in the restaurant, her heart filled with the sweet and ambiguous memories of the last visit she paid there. She couldn't help but grin all the way down to their table ornamented by a cream-coloured array of candles. Although Sherlock did not compliment her, the prideful look on his high cheek boned face mirrored the feelings behind the girl's radiant smile. She had no time to be overwhelmed by the perfect combination of excitement, joy and delight as Sherlock shaking his head, out of nowhere, placed a folder in front of her. She blinked a few times before with a puzzled expression she opened it, her hands immediately stopping, her navy eyes glancing up at then detective with a mixture of awe and shock.  
'Is this-?' Was all she managed to say. The pale figure nodded bitterly, avoiding eye contact.  
Lisbeth took a deep breath as she rested her hands on the first page.  
'I am aware that you have already read some of these documents as you had broken into the police database. I called in some favours and found some loopholes. It took me a while, but I uncovered every detail,' the deep voice narrated as the trembling hands ran through the old, yellow papers. Her tale throat moved as she swallowed, and she felt her eyes mist with tears.  
'What happened?' A determined, yet vulnerable feminine voice took the lead. Lisbeth could no longer smell the vanilla scent of the candles, hear the cheerful murmur of people, or see the man in front of her, his heart heavy with patience and worry. She could not believe that it was all in front of her, everything she had been looking for since the age of 13, every data, every report. The whole story. Not just pieces of paper torn from a heavy book, mismatched puzzle pieces of a hidden picture, long lost memories of an old person. It was the whole story behind her mother's murder. A little part of her wished to curl up in bed and be swallowed by darkness; she wanted to run away, she didn't want to face her demons. But she overcame the coward side of her lurking deep down as curiosity got the better of her. Taking a deep, collected breath she broke away from the memory of the dark alley and returned to the bright restaurant. She wanted _him_ to tell her what had happened. She wanted _him_ to put the pieces together, to put _her_ broken pieces back together. Trembling navy met with solid turquoise, waiting for the permission to start:  
'Amelia Elizabeth Matson, or later known as Amelia Lestrade, was working for the Military Intelligence for 17 years. She was highly capable, intelligent, adaptable and one of the best agents MI6 ever had. She acquired quite a fame before she retired and gave birth to a daughter. Later she went on to work as a teacher at UCL and a freelancer journalist. In 2006, however, she stumbled upon a man who owned one of the biggest newspaper companies in the world. Her instincts kicked in as she couldn't help but started investigating. She dug deep down and uncovered secrets that would make the man fall. Having been threatened on numerous occasions, she refused to back down as she was fighting for what she believed was right. Exceptional as she was, she managed to shed light on one of the most notorious terrorist groups operating in London. However, before she could connect it to the man, she was killed with cold blood. All the evidence miraculously disappeared; there were no eye-witnesses, no case. In short, her murder was smothered up.'  
Crystal teardrops fell on the papers, starting their journey on the white porcelain of the girl's skin, glistening the way down, finally coming to an end on the indigo ink, transforming into bluish drops. Lisbeth was crying without sound. She had no idea that her mother was a spy, not even the faintest. She felt betrayed; she couldn't believe that her mother, the closest and most important person to her, kept it in secret. Or maybe…the thought in the back of her mind occurred to her, she was protecting her. As sentiment was battling against reason in her, she desperately needed someone to break the stalemate and decide which belligerent deserved to win. Just as if he could read minds, Sherlock, the knight in the sobering armour of reality, lifted her chin up gently. Through the midst of her tears she glanced up at the coal black curls.  
'Your father, 'the story teller continued the bitter tale, resting his hand on the girl's chin which twitched upon hearing the obnoxious word, 'did everything in his power to hunt down everyone responsible for his wife's death and bring them to justice.' The detective left no time for his partner to react as he took out a crumbled piece of paper from the bottom of his pockets: 

' _You have a very gorgeous daughter Mr Lestrade. It would be a shame if something happened to her. Peculiar, very charming. After all, young, blonde, rebellious teenage girls are easy to find themselves in trouble. And we both know that there are worse things in this ferocious world than death. If you don't give up investigating, you might visit two graves.  
Yours faithfully,  
CAM'  
_As the deep voice read out loud, Lisbeth couldn't hold it any longer and she burst out in tears. Burying her face in her arms, in a muffled voice she rambled:  
'No, no, no, no. It cannot be. No, he wouldn't… he shouldn't, he should have-'  
'That's enough, 'he interrupted firmly.' 'Your father had done what was the best for you.'  
'No, he should have found the murderer! He shouldn't have given up on her! She was my mother!' She yelled, her vision blurred with crimson fury, deep, unknown anger for the sweltering injustice of her mother's death. As the candle's light extinguished enhancing the dark mood, cold, grey smoke mixed with heat of the thin air. Curious faces turned in their direction, but she couldn't care less about making a scene, or everyone around her, except the detective whose eyes were fixed at her, giving something to hold on.  
'Lisbeth!' she addressed her assertively as his hands gently, but firmly took her hands. 'She was his wife too. He loved her. He loved her as much as he loves you.'  
'Oh please,' Lisbeth laughed bitterly.  
'Would you just shut up for a moment?' he lost his patience. Lisbeth was so surprised by the sudden mood change that she immediately went quiet.  
'Your father was a great help when we were looking for you. He did everything he could and this time he wouldn't give up for the world. Without him, maybe, I wouldn't have been able to find you.'  
The girl's jaw felt. Not only did the detective admit that he couldn't do something on his own, but he was defending her father the same time. What was going on?  
'What are you doing?' The willowy figure demanded as his feminine counterpart started to examine his eyes and check his pulse.  
'Just checking whether you have been drugged or about to die or-'  
'Oh, stop it,' a ghost of smile quivered on his lips. 'Your father had made an extremely hard decision; he chose to protect you. Don't be mistaken, I admit that he has his shortcomings and he's obnoxious, a know-it-all, quite a snob, a control maniac, he has many faults. But he took good care of you and raised quite an extraordinary person. Although I am sure your mother played a great part in it.'  
Lisbeth was all smiles, but her face suddenly clouded over, as she remembered an important question left unanswered:  
'CAM. Who is CAM?'  
'Charles Augustus Magnussen. The man I shot in the head two years ago,' Sherlock gave a casual answer keeping his cool, as if he had not just openly admitted a murder in a restaurant full of curious ears. Lisbeth was so taken aback that she was at a loss for words. Emotions stirred in her and she couldn't find one dominant. She was furious; her precious revenge was taken away. She felt pride and infinite gratitude for Sherlock. Sorrow compassed her. But most of all… she was relieved. She knew time has come for closure. After all these years, she could make peace with her past, put it in a big, wooden chest, lock the key and hide it in the back of a drawer later to be discovered by an eager adventurer, or a writer. She knew she would one day write down the story to pay a tribute to her mother, but she was not ready. Not yet.  
'I guess then… That's it. My mother's case is officially closed,' she cleared her throat and her gaze met with the detective's. For an eternal moment they communicated without speaking.  
'Thank you,' she broke the silence quietly. 'You know how much this means to me.'  
'You are very welcome,' his handsome face was illuminated by a warm smile.  
'Very well then, we still have another case!' he suddenly pulled his hand away and started searching in his pocket.  
'Oh Sherlock, can't I have my moment here, please?' Lisbeth retorted, swiping away the files and her tears.  
'This is the very moment,' Sherlock declared and placed a petit, tetragon-shaped case in front of her, its wrapping matching the girl's navy eyes.  
'What is it? A priceless family heirloom stolen from an old lady?' she inquired, at the centre of her questioned gaze the little box.  
'Well, it certainly is an heirloom as it belonged to my grandmother, who, you are right, was an old lady. But it's not the ring which is priceless, but the girl I am giving it to,' the deep and beloved voice explained, but his voice was somehow muffled, and the girl knew immediately that he was not sitting in front of her anymore.  
As Lisbeth's eyes fell to the floor she saw Sherlock was kneeling. Sherlock Holmes, the one and only consulting detective in the world, was kneeling in front of her, gazing at her face as a man who has seen the Sun for the first time, holding a magnificent gold ring, with a peculiar navy blue stone shining in the middle of it.  
Although it happened to her quite frequently since they met, she never felt so much at a loss for words and to be honest, completely, utterly shocked.  
'Lisbeth Adelaide Lestrade, I don't want you to be the woman, I want you to be the wife. Will you marry me?' he proposed, his handsome face smirking. The words were put together with great care, made complete sense, and reached their highest potential only in this constellation. He pronounced each one clearly and they came together in a flawless symphony. The composition was brought to perfection by constant, unflagging rehearsals. The lady in question still couldn't find her voice or anything to hold on to. She must be dreaming. She must be dead.  
'Lestrade,' the gentleman in action cleared his throat, 'This is starting to become quite a predicament. If you don't want to be my wife, that's fine, however I am, alongside with the entire restaurant, waiting for your answer.'  
As he used her last name Lisbeth came back to life. She shook her head to clear it, realised at once that it could be interpreted as a no, bowed madly and yelled out:  
'I am glad you finally reach this conclusion. Of course, Sherlock, I'll marry you!' Sherlock sighed with relief and put the ring on Lisbeth's fingers. The very moment he rose the girl fell on his neck and kissed her full of passion and joy. Sherlock lips reacted with mutual enthusiasm and started a swift dance. As his hands cupped the girl's face, her fingers ran through the black locks. They were lost in the kiss, but were interrupted by the crowd cheering and clapping around them lead by no other than Angelo.  
'Oh I have forgot all the idiots around us,' he murmured, his temple leaning against the girl's.  
'Let's go home then, shall we?' she suggested still on the spur of the moment.  
'We shall,' he agreed. The girl laughed at him, gave a peck on his mouth and grabbed his hand. As they stepped out the restaurant, closing the door and silencing the cheering behind them she smiled at him widely:  
'C'mon, the world's only consulting detective! The world's only consulting wife cannot wait to tell everybody about the news. Uncle is going to explode. Haha. Father will definitely send you in exile to Siberia. And Mycroft, do you think he would attend the wedding? Oh you could finally prove Mrs Hudson that you are not gay, though I was rooting for you and John, John and Mary! And little Rosie. And Molly!'  
'Oh, shut up!' he grabbed her by the collar, gently, but very alluringly and silenced her with a kiss which made her blush. While waiting for a taxi, she looked up, her blonde hair falling into the crest of her shoulder-blades. She fell silent, gazing into the dark canvas of the sky. The silver paint drips of the stars glistened in the navy mirror of her eyes. Sherlock absorbed every detail of her face, the long, straight nose, the deep circles around her eyes, her lips pressed softly together, her brows lifted slightly. As her eyes landed on him, he was hit by an overwhelming feeling and he knew he was in love.  
'You are not a consulting wife, you are mine only,' he stated, flagging a taxi and holding the girl in a close embrace.  
'We could say, in your language, that I have won the game,' a victorious smile flashed across her face.  
'No, definitely not. Because I am not playing anymore. I got everything I wanted. This is not a game anymore. This is the beginning of a new era,' Lisbeth was very grateful that Sherlock was holding her because that was the moment when her knees were no longer willing to work.  
'221B Baker Street,' Sherlock told the taxi driver as he, the world's only consulting detective, and the girl, not the woman, but soon to be the wife, got in the car.

THE END


End file.
